


To See and To Protect

by spnsmile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternative Universe - FBI, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Background Case, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, Castiel/Dean Winchester Mutual Pining, Coma, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, FBI Agent Castiel (Supernatural), Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, French Kissing, Graphic Description, Healing, Healing Sex, Hot, Hot Sex, Kissing, Love, M/M, Major Character Injury, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Overprotective Castiel (Supernatural), Pining, Pole Dancing, Prostitute Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protectiveness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Self-Sacrificing Castiel (Supernatural), Self-Sacrificing Dean Winchester, Serial Killers, Smut, Surprise Kissing, Sweet, Sweet/Hot, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnsmile/pseuds/spnsmile
Summary: Dean Winchester, a stripper/hooker with magnetic penchant for trouble gets identified as a Super Recognizer, he can memorize a face for years even in disguise after seeing it once. He didn’t know it’s a thing, but when FBI Agent Castiel Novak comes knocking at the club he works at with his ink-blue eyes and unhinging smile, plus hunting a serial killer for breakfast.Castiel has been overly protective of Dean Winchester, curiosity at first, and then sympathy gradually turning to something else. But Officer Novak doesn’t let his emotion cloud his judgment.Except whenever Dean is in danger.Or that story in a world of crime and psychos, Dean gets a personal guardian FBI agent always watching him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 30
Kudos: 162
Collections: Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020





	1. Fargo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes down to a meeting! Writting for DCPF2020 with my partner in crime Angeltortured! Quite violent! Please be guided!  
> And check out the masterpieces of art! :)

… _son of a bitch_ …

_Fucking calm down, you got this…! You don’t have to tell him squat about a thing you didn’t do… calm down… you’re the victim here… just—_

“Yeah, I did it.” 

_Fuck._

“Excuse me?” the deep, gravelly voice of the officer surprises Dean a little. It’s somebody he doesn’t recognize.

Not one of Detective Zachariah’s loud subordinates. Those detectives who told him, again and again, there is no way he will be acquitted. All the evidence on the weapon. No one will listen anyway.

He is clearly doomed. Been thinking about it every night.

“I did it…” Dean breathes out, eyes on his lap where his cuffed hands are curled. The interrogation room swims in and out his focus, his breathing rapid. They had him in custody for two days now. He didn’t crack at first, didn’t speak. His father taught him right about not talking when in the custody of the police until they’re the one offering. Apparently, demanding one puts you in the guilty loop one way or the other.

But he can’t do it. He’ll screw up— _he is a screwup._ His dad was right, he can’t do anything right not even to save his life. Shouldn’t have gotten so curious about a face… _shouldn’t have turned to the alley to check._

_Didn’t curiosity kill the cat?_

Rage eats at him for the unjust detainment, but what else could be done? He was there— wrong place, wrong time— nabbed by the police with a soaking red dead body next to him on the street. Then there’s the gun with his fingerprint.

He remembers snapping up and the gun was just on his hand. Everything else was a blur with blood rushing on his head, but he knows one thing— _he screwed up big time._

Then ten minutes ago the door opened and another officer came. Dean knows he is different than the previous detectives who had interrogated him with their big entrance, big mood, loudmouth trying to intimidate him. No, the guy entered like a ninja, Dean didn’t notice him until he saw a pair of black shoes standing on his side.

Panic ensues inside his gut—he doesn’t like people sneaking behind him—the haunting memory of his experience that night still fresh. He doesn’t know why there’s only ringing silence between him and the new interrogator. Unlike the other cops who have screamed and threatened Dean to admit to the crime, this one just flips on his clipboard— _very quietly_.

It was unnerving.

The guy is worse than any work of statue since he came in five minutes later, very. But he can’t afford to look up. The faces will only haunt him in his sleep, like the dead guy— _and the other person in the alley—_ he won’t keep them in his head, he is going to shut them all out.

Just like how he has been shutting the truth out of his system like rotten eggs. He didn’t crack with the other detectives, but this unexpected silence is worse than anyone hollering on his face. But he waits, he nervously waits, eyes working on the corners to see the officer slowly walk around the table.

Dean mentally wills himself to calm down. The tension doesn’t disappear on his shoulders. The eerie sound of his jeans scratching on the metal seat gets himself conscious. The officer standing opposite him stops flipping his clipboard too, not saying anything. Don’t care. There’s a beat.

He can’t do this so when the guy comes a little closer, Dean shuts his eyes.

_Son of a bitch…_

_Your grave._

“I did it.” He repeats a little more forcefully, opening his strained eyes staring at the edge of the table. He swallows. What does he expect after that? _He is an idiot._

But there’s more of that profound silence than sound of clopping shoes.

“You… _did_?” the officer repeats carefully, almost a warning.

“Yeah.” Dean huffs, throat dry. 

_He’ll eat you now, he’ll pin it to you. Tell you it’s the answer he wants to hear. Like the rest of them. Pin him on murder, get his face on television for trials. He wonders if Sam would talk to him now. He grimaces at the irony. Sam could be his lawyer. Not like he is going to walk out free now._

He grits his teeth to point of developing a bad case of bruxism.

_Not near… don’t._

“What makes you say that?” the deep voice turns cold. Did he hear it right?

“I—”

“Stop wasting my time.”

The annoyance soars to contempt. Dean flinches at the crisp tone. Someone really is having a bad day, and Dean thinks it’s him so why were these officers adding to all the bullshit again?

The officer briskly sits at the edge of the table with one leg up, right in front of him. Dean doesn’t lookup. He maintains his eyes on the shadow of the table on the floor, teeth grinding. He carefully avoids the guy’s holster. He doesn’t want a flashback.

“I’m not…” he says, head sinking in and out. He’s not altogether there.

“Past midnight two nights ago, what did you see?” the gravelly voice insists

Stop talking. Dean wants to shout. They have been at it for almost three days. The horror won’t stop.

“It was me.”

A clipping sound of the tongue. “You are the killer? Still the same confession? You commit to the crime?”

Dean doesn’t answer.

“You’re not doing yourself any favor, Winchester. Who are you protecting?” the sound of control is back, though it remained authoritative. It resonates in the closed-off room in heavy crescendo, prickling the back of his neck.

Dean blinks. If the clarity of the head was needed now, he is sure he does not have an ounce of it.

“Winchester.” The voice snaps. "Are you protecting anyone?"

He thought he imagined the damn voice, reminding him Brian Thompson somewhere at the back of his mind. But what the hell—? The response snaps him from somewhere far, the question taking him by surprise.

“I—I’m not protecting anyone! who am I gonna protect? _Check my records_ —I only got a sibling all the way in Seattle. I’m on my own. _Alone_.” It doesn’t bite as it used to. He is coped. “I did it, okay? Isn’t that enough?” he is still talking to his knees.

A short pause.

“Can you look me in the eyes, Winchester? Even if you do, I know you’re still lying. If you keep this up, this case will turn against you and I’ll tell you clearly the results will be devastating for both of us. Do you want that? Because I don’t.”

 _“What do you have to do with it?”_ Dean gripes.

“More than you know. Now, the truth.” The voice is heavy, meaningful. “You may not believe it, but I do think you’re being stupid for admitting recklessly without advice from your lawyer. Self-incrimination is, in itself, a crime. You’re obstructing the law and my investigation.

Dean’s blood surges to his head. Law. Something like that on the works when he hasn’t seen it in practice—a law that chooses side apparently. It gets him finally lifting his eyes furiously to face the bastard, singing all high mighty praises about their badges when all they do is hold everyone’s head down without prejudice. Stare you dead in the eyes because everyone to them is the same— _guilty._

_Even when he tells the opposite now, they won’t stop. They never stop._

His last two days in jail, the detective made him feel there was no way out. So, who’s wasting time now?

There’s a growl somewhere. Dean thinks for a second someone had let in the wild animals, only to realize it’s the officer before him. He looks up from the shining shoes to the well-ironed pants. It goes up all the way to the unwrinkled dark coat, broad chest looks firm, body straight built with curves on the right places especially at the back.

Dean stares a lot when he reaches the face.

Finds himself staring openly at the—what was that. He sharply inhales, an officer he hadn’t met before with pointed jaw, beautiful skin, very angular shaped with the amount of dark hair on top of his head sporting perfectly curved dominant eyebrows—

Those features are the icing on the cake.

It’s his eyes. Dean stares at the world—the fucking _globe_ with all its coveted lands gone, leaving only all the blue— _all the glittering majestic blue sea with glaring thunderbolts that warns sailors to fucking stay in their ship and accept their fate on the upcoming storm._ And if there’s any way out of the blue eyes of the storm, Dean thinks he won’t be looking for a way out but a way _in._

_And he finds himself strangling himself to stay in, drowned or not._

The officer regards him with a measured look, cold eyes of blue unappeased. Dean waits for the lightning bolt to strike. Realized it already struck and he’s already feeling the running circuit within. Flashes of previous memory corrupting his mind suddenly shy away back into the shadows giving way to the magnificent dancing lights of the darkened sky stimulating his body.

Yet the blue only darkens and deepens before it cuts him in its deep rumbling voice.

_“I don’t believe you and I can prove it. Try again, Winchester. I might give you a chance for a second life. Try saying the wrong thing again, and I’ll send you back in hell where you obviously want to stay. And I’ll even keep the lights off.”_

It’s raw. It’s wrong. His body shivers at the tone. Dean can hear him but he cannot will himself to react in plain sight. Something else stirs beneath and he knows he is fucked up for even entertaining the thought. This is an officer—the very type he doesn’t get along with—whose gun he never tries to hold. Yet right now this guy is changing his mind—just because he happens to eye him so deadly, Dean thinks he doesn’t need the court to judge him.

He’ll let this guy have his way.

That’s when he knew he was off the game on the get-go. He shakes his head. He tries not to think of how close to inch their faces are. Knows that’s how officers usually intimidate, but honestly, he won’t mind another inch or too closely. Doesn’t give a damn about personal space if that’s the kind of face he’s gonna suck in.

Which is exactly what his traitorous mouth wants to do.

Head spinning, Dean attempted to get his head back. He squirms in his seat, not sure what he wants to do or what he is seeing is real. The blue eyes are crystal clear and he can’t look away.

His obvious attention gets a scowl.

“Are you going to talk now? Or do I need to make you.”

 _Make me._ Is what he wants to say. But the sight of the guy’s clipped tag reminds him he is with a badged officer and badged officer are trouble for the likes of him working in the shades. Then again, isn’t that why they took him in? Because no one ever believes prostitutes anyways.

He swallows and closes his eyes.

“Please…” he sighs, closing his eyes tight. “Just… give me a minute to breathe…”

The officer obliges and turns his back. Dean catches sight of that backside.

One word?

_Hot._

Everything about the guy is meant to lull him into a trap— _the gorgeous blue eyes, the loosely knotted tie, the mussy dark hair—_ this is unfair. Why did he have to be a police officer?

“Winchester?” the deep gravelly voice is back like it never disappeared. Dean looks up to see him standing right back up like he never walked away. Did he fall asleep or what?

The office keeps the knitted brows. _Those royal brows_. Where did this guy come from?

“I— I don’t know who killed him.” he stammers, headache pounding _._ Whatever complaint he was about to say next died out at the flashing blue that takes no-nonsense. “What do you want from me…”

The officer seems to relax a bit.

“I already told you. I want the truth.” His tone was kinder, yet there remains the buzz of warning. “I know it’s not you, but if you do not cooperate, we won’t be able to help each other?”

“I don’t know what you want,” Dean says weakly as those glinting blue continue to pierce him.

“I am asking you a question. Even if the circumstantial evidence is against your odds. You are the prime suspect, it doesn’t mean all is too late. I can help you. Tell me what happened exactly as it did. I believe it will have a tangent relevance to the crime as a whole. You are going to make your position worse if you continue to admit to the crime. I can describe to you the arduous procedure, not to mention you will be locked up in jail before anything can be proven. I am an efficient guy and can fish out whatever you’re hiding, but it will not be without drawback—and time is of the essence of me. If you want to rot in jail, your choice, Winchester. So…”

The officer leans closer with the eyes of daggers. “Say it again for me. Did you kill the man?”

Dean shuts his eyes, body shivering at the tone of his voice. This is like torture, except he likes it. That’s when he knows he is back to normal function in the head. He inhales.

_“No.”_

Another pause. The officer seems to take it thoughtfully because the next thing Dean knows; his hands fall on their side. Like his job here is done.

“Well, now. Was that so hard?” he sits back on the table now with the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. Still didn’t reach the blue eyes so it’s like looking at a Cheshire cat who knows you’re putting your neck in the guillotine and won’t be telling you anyway.

Dean half scowled at him for being so decisive. But something tells him it’s more than frustration so he looks away. The guy is playing him, he can see that. He is always been sensitive to proximity.

The officer studies him for a second. Different from all the glare.

An impasse where Dean stares at the officer’s shiny black shoes now, donning the same black pants. Unlike the other officers who got so frustrated, they peeled their coats out while interrogating him the guy is in full attire. 

He sweeps his eyes on the officer’s I.D hanging by his neck then froze.

_Novak. FBI Castiel Novak. Cas—tiel?_

Dean stares. FBI.

“ _You’re from the fed?”_ Dean says in askance.

“Is something wrong with your ears? I introduced myself when I came here.” He points out unkindly. “I won’t repeat myself after this. I’m Special Agent Novak, L.A Officer. I came for your ass.”

Dean is torn between shaking his head and nodding at once. The shake of his head not about listening no— _this guy is lying— Federal Agent, my ass. He could be a marine, a fucking marine officer who leads barracks and garrison with that clipped tone in his voice. He could also be an army general the command is beyond measure._

Dean ogles too much.

“Please, pay attention.” Officer Novak says through gritted teeth.

Dean snaps back in attention… Snaps it right back to the officer’s lips curling at him in disapproval. Why? What did he do? What the hell did he do to get the Fed on his ass? The answer comes crashing back down— dead body on the street where he expertly collapsed due to some bad flashback from childhood experience, he isn’t comfortable to be talking about.

“Winchester, if you’re still not willing to give me what I need, my hands will be forced to detain you for obstructing the law. You can wait for your arraignment until the trial court hearings officially begin—do you want this to escalate to that?”

“But they won’t listen.” Dean finds his voice. Finding courage in the sudden soft voice placed at the tail of the officer’s voice. He looks down again, if he keeps looking up, he will get distracted—and it will get the officer even angrier and Dean hornier. It doesn’t help to be that beautifully distracting.

So, his eyes get the floor.

“I am listening so look at me.” The voice commands, not harsh, just controlled, “I will listen. Just look me in the eyes—all communications start by looking people in the eyes. Look at me, Winchester.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t want to get distracted, dammit.”

“Distracted from what?”

“I’m telling you. It wasn’t me.”

“Then what were you doing down the roadside, unconscious in front of a dead guy?”

_“I slipped!”_

_“Don’t lie!”_

“Someone pointed a gun on my face okay? Stop reminding me of that shit you don't know how I.... you think everyone can handle a gun as your feds do? Well, fuck you!”

He didn’t mean that. He really didn’t mean that. There’s the sound of flipping documents. “Do you have any medical history of seizures? Where’s the health report here.” Agent Novak glares at the wall like he can see something there. Dean knows he can. It doesn’t make him feel any safer.

He wasn’t safer here two days ago. Only now behind those blue eyes, he can see some hope. Agent Novak gazes back at him, brows burrowing in the middle of his forehead.

“They threatened you?

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing, too officer— _send your cops back where you hauled them and tell em stop treating us escorts as whores you see like we’re all the dirt under your nose!”_

“Calm down, I hear you.”

“Well, good. Maybe you can tell the detective here to stop threatening me. I told you I didn’t do it! They are framing me with my fingerprints on the gun? I didn’t say anything to them yesterday, they didn’t like that! I’m admitting to it now, you didn’t want it either! But what’s the fed doing on my case?” he is panicking now. His heart Is thumping loud in his ears but once the damn is out, it’s hard to stop it from overflowing.

Eyes bright, he looks back at the cool eyes meeting his anger. Like it was enough, it did the trick. Dean pulls his eyes away, breathing heavily as Agent Novak coolly drops his hands on his sides.

“We’re you on the clock?” he asks.

“I just left work.” Dean doesn’t look at him, he knows the continuity here. “I don’t stay until 1 a.m., there’s a curfew at my apartment. Landlady’s paranoid, she closes the gate on us, but the rent’s cheap so you just gotta adjust.”

“So why were you found 2 kilometers away from your apartment?”

“Is it bad to get takeout from a 24/7 diner?”

“Is this 24/7 diner supposed to be found midway in a dark alley?”

“Ever heard of short cut, buddy?” he leers.

Blue eyes flash. Agent Novak crosses his arms, chin tilting testily.

“I’ve done an ocular of the site and can give you the accurate mileages of the store branches from all points and direction. The closest in the area is Biggersons only two blocks away from the crime scene. Obviously, this is the diner you passed by which means you were heading to the north. The only diner in that direction is one of Conner’s Diner. However, if you are going to push with ‘short cut’,” Dean gapes as the officer air quoted—still with his straight face— “then you are committing false alibi which the court will take against you during the criminal procedure and you will be tried for murder. And if luck is really not on your side, they might as well pin you the other serial cases attached with the gun found in your possession.”

Dean holds his breath, this time just staring at the officer. He hears everything—even the possibility of being tried—but it was nothing he hasn’t heard before. What’s making him fully regard the officer is the way he can easily find the loopholes exactly as Dean mentions them—the little things he was not really paying attention to—but—the way he just pulls those out from his head?

 _Damn that brain._ Just sitting there in his dark suit, loose tie those thick thighs—the guy’s brain is ridiculously on gear. Dean breathes out. “I—”

“I can tell you this much. Breathe one wrong word and I will officially declare you involved. We don’t want that— _I don’t want you to pin_ for multiple murders even if you did murder Lane—”

“I—I didn’t— _what multiple murder_?” he gasps.

His headache is slowly returning. The officer retains the hard-stoic look.

“This is a serial case, Winchester, a cold case for two years now until you showed up. I would even say, you are currently in a position that finally topples the game I have been in pursuit for five years now.”

Dean shakes his head. “What are you talking about, man…?”

The agent pauses a moment with an inward sigh.

“Do you know whose gun was found with your fingerprints, Winchester?”

“N-no?” Dean holds his breath.

Agent Novak’s expression hardens. “What the hell did Zachariah even investigated on you?”

Dean stares at him wordlessly.

Surprisingly enough, no one has ever explained to him this. Or maybe they did, but he was too out of it from threats and harsh words of the other local police, that darn Zachariah. Granted this is the first time Dean ever screwed up that a real FBI agent— _hot FBI agent—_ but what did he end up bumping this time? 

Dean can assume the worst. He is never that lucky.

No one gives a shit on hookers too. No one ever gives a shit about him either.

Except for this guy.

Before either could speak, the door burst open and in comes the officer Dean knows by heart. Detective Zachariah comes blundering in his too-big head and too big shoes of gray and mounting. Dean sees the FBI agent stiffen and _holy that the left eyebrow can raise_. He knew those eyebrows can pull punches and was glad not to be on the receiving end of it.

The detective doesn’t look fazed, however.

“What are you doing? You came here without permission and now you’re interrogating our primes suspect—” the FBI asks incredulously that earned him the death stare among the death stare. And Dean is glad once again he isn’t on the receiving end of the FBI agent’s icy voice. 

“I asked for fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t give hell—you did not follow the protocol. And why are you tiptoeing around a criminal who’s already admitted to the crime? Better get in line too, this is still my division, agent—”

Agent Novak stood tall when he turns. “Is that why I don’t see complete records on this sheet? Why hasn’t anyone got this guy with medical and mental support? And if the court hears you’re trying to threaten him to admit to a crime he didn’t do just to save your face—”

“What— _what threaten?”_ he glares sharply at Dean, “What are you talking about! Be careful what you say, boy—”

“Oh, I would be careful too, if I were you. Violation of Rights, Article 11, a principle of presumption of innocence until proven guilty, you are on the wrong here, detective, so I suggest you step back.”

He did not so much as a growl, but the effect is the same. Dean can only look at him— _fuck Zachariah—_ Agent Novak’s voice is all he needs. Except the agent doesn’t look back but Dean satisfies himself just looking at him

Then comes the holler. “Novak! Just because your brother is the chief of the FBI— you’re still in my division—”

“We are over this. You are not to use petty interagency divisions to hinder the investigation. This man is obviously the wrong person and you are trying to pin the murder for what reason, you can enlighten me.”

 _“What—?_ Isn’t direct evidence from the forensics under your nose, Novak! That’s enough to throw him in and label him meat grinder— his fingerprints are all over the weapon.”

“He doesn’t fit the profile.” Is all the FBI agent says?

_“Profile—? We’re not even sure it’s your guy! Your obsession with that serial killer-”_

Agent Novak steps forward bitingly, nose to nose with Zachariah. The intensity of his gaze reaches another level of trying to be dominant and he succeeds. The stare gets the detective clenching his jaw in intimidation, muscles tightening while trying to wall up against the furious FBI agent.

“You and I both know fingerprints can be manipulated when the victim is unconscious. Your local eyewitnesses confirm in the report he was found ‘bloody and unconscious’ and was brought to the nearby clinic until you arrested him the moment, he gains his consciousness. Please, do not make me gather up these eyewitnesses just to make a point. _My time is precious. I do not have the same luxury as yours.”_

Dean forgets his name upon looking at that hot frame. An officer to officer rebuttal and it’s obvious who is winning. It’s obvious who gets the favor of power and dominance. And it’s quite obvious who is hotter hands down.

Dean wondered how long he can maintain his sanity if given the same pressure from those eyes that obviously can make anyone bend at will. He is bending and very willing. The outline of the officer’s frame is fucking beautiful.

Zachariah’s eyes flicker to the wall, then try again.

“You have no proof of that—"

“You have no proof that this isn’t the work of the killer too. I am the only one who can confirm it and I have. Your best evidence is me right here in front of you when your forensics sent us the photo of the murder weapon.” Agent Novak narrows his eyes, “Registry search confirmed that a silver-stylized EAA Tanfoglio Witness Elite limited 10mm with a set of 10mm Nosler and 135 grains round uniquely made with black Hebrew engraving. Found with Dean Winchester’s fingerprints, yes, but on what account can you believe it when I know for a fact, the killer doesn’t get this careless. Not with his fingerprint, not. Failing to consider the profiler, now, that is your mistake. The ballistic information on the catalog matching the same ballistic data shared on the IBIN of our serial killer, I do not encourage you to downplay the evidence I can provide. I can prove he is not the suspect. So, if you want me out of your neck, you let him go. I suggest you release this man now and take him in custody as a prime witness on a murder case in your jurisdiction, Detective. His profile did not even match our suspect He is not _Picasso’.”_

Dean bangs his cuffed hands down the table with earsplitting sound. It startles him too, eyes wide and surprised. _Shit. Did he hear it right? Picasso?_ He knows Picasso— _everyone does! The mad man from the local news—the guy who skins his victims alive, mutilates them in a splash of color and then shoots their head—thus his nickname—_

Horror fills Dean. He pushes back on his seat, his cold back from perspiration pressing tight on his skin. His eyes inadvertently sway to the agent and his many layers of cloth, trying to see that _bulge_ somewhere. He swallows hard. He knows Novak has one.

_Gun._

_Fuck guns._ A memory of his inebriated father holding it on his head has him bowing his head, nauseous.

“What are you his attorney now?”

“I’m glad you now remembered to call him one.”

Agent Novak turns on Dean, eyes lingering for a second longer with deep-set eyes. “I need to speak with him now in my office— _without the handcuff.”_ Not waiting for a response, Agent Novak turns to Dean, clipboard on his side.

“Are you okay?” there’s no sympathy there but he clasps Dean’s shoulder, pushing him back on the chair. Dean swallows the bitter taste in his mouth, beads of perspiration on his forehead.

But something else registers to Dean.

“You already think it wasn’t me?”

Agent Novak only gave him a stern stare. He leans back on the chair and crosses his arms, surveying Dean critically. 

“I know it wasn’t you.”

“Novak—the forensics’ report—”

“Enough.” The FBI agent says roughly, he gives Zachariah his most penetrating stare. “He is not the culprit.” Zacharia harkens a laugh, large beefy hands on his hips, the gun still on the table.

“You got a screw loose! He is already given a statement.”

“An unclear statement under mental pressure will not be acknowledged by the court. I’m trying to save your ass here too, Zachariah. And trying to save an innocent person.”

Their eyes lock, new relish bubbling at the pit of Dean’s stomach. Agent Novak is a laser in the human body. Dean contemplates.

“How can you be so sure, Novak?”

There’s a beat where Dean just enjoys the moment, he locks his eyes with the overwhelming blue.

“This is your other mistake, Zachariah. You see what you only like to see. Didn’t you notice? _He is afraid of guns_.”

Dean silently agrees.

He also silently agrees that there are now two things he is most scared of. The threatening flashback from any image of guns—

And the effect of one Agent Castiel Novak on his already blazing heart.


	2. Salt

After the short interlude with Zachariah, the FBI agent with every possible evidence at his disposal got what he wanted, proving Dean’s innocence in less than an hour. Dean wasn’t entirely off the hook yet, and after the wait, he was ordered to be transferred to the Witness Protection Program in succeeding minutes. He was asked to wait in another isolated room with a long gray table, but at least he was no longer cuffed and there’s an AC, even a TV where he caught a glimpse of the report of the murder two nights ago.

Dean leans on the table when he sees the body covered in the sheet being brought to an ambulance. _‘…confirmed to be the body of Fredric Lane from Williamstown…”_

The murder weapon also came into view—as he remembered it. He bites his lips.

That was a whole shit last night.

_“… one of the two weapons believed to have been previously owned by a serial killer dubbed as Picasso responsible for 12 murder cases all across the state from 2014 up to present—”_

Dean startles when Agent Novak enters the room. The officer’s blue eyes fall on him, and then the news report. Plush lips thinning, he goes around the table with purpose, a black folder with FBI seal on his hand.

Dean watches him quietly. He was actually pretty impressed with how this man gets things done. He guesses it’s all rank and stuff. Zachariah’s pretty much a dickhead, but if he can follow interagency FBI protocols then it means justice is still in the world.

Justice in the frame of the agent sitting in front of him silently attention on his being all hook, line, and sinker. Dean studies him, eyes flickering to the television.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on, Agent Novak?”

The agent doesn’t answer. You can measure his shoulder with those high precision level rulers and see it balance from tip to tip. Dean tries not to show his eagerness.

After all, he is nearly been accused as a serial killer.

“Please drink your water, Winchester.”

“Just spill it, officer.” Dean grabs the glass in front of him but didn’t drink. “This mass murderer—”

“Serial killer.”

“I thought he is in Virginia.” Dean’s brows knitted. As he understands it, Agent Novak has been on the case for years now, is a profiler of the suspected criminal and leads the L.A task force pursuing the trail of the suspect for many years who took half the number of his victims from said jurisdiction.

“It was the last place he was at large before he threw us off his scent, taking the life of his last victim whose body was found in a basement. Contrary to what you hear from the media, he is killed twice the number what’s on the news. We just do not give it accurately to the media as advised by the BAU-4. Serial killers are known for power play and the more they get known, the higher we trigger their motivation.” Agent Novak put both hands on top of the folder and clasp them, “I cannot disclose that much information, but I will tell you this. I have been anticipating that he will make an appearance this year. Given his absence for almost a year as part of his M.O, this Picasso. More importantly, is his weapon to paint his art. The guns.”

He flicks his blue eyes to Dean who sighs.

“I’m not _afraid_ of guns.” Dean insists moodily, tucking his arms around his body, hands running on his red wrists. “ _I got issues, okay?_ But not afraid…” he looks away.

“Your lips are still dry and please, drink more water. Take your time and remain seated. I would have offered you chocolates to get your nerves down but umm... I cannot offer anything decent. This isn’t an office I occupied until this morning. But my partner left a piece of pie on my table this morning—”

“Pie?” Dean’s head snaps up, expression too hungry.

Agent Novak blinks back at him a little surprise. Dean flushes in embarrassment. He bows his head between his arms this time, unable to meet the officer’s eyes.

“Have you eaten breakfast, Dean?”

Dean shakes his head, still a little embarrassed. He hears the Agent shift on his chair, then his deep voice speaking on his mobile.

“Hello, Bal? Can you come here in the conference room, bring that lunchbox you made for breakfast? Do grab the pie there too—and the chocolates. No, we’re not having a date. I have Winchester here. Yeah, okay.”

Their eyes meet, Dean now curious as he studies the agent.

“Your partner in crime?”

Agent Novak nods, “Seven years since I graduated in the Academy. He is British so excuse him for being all over the place later. Has a good sense of humor, but he is a very good friend. We’re both from L.A division and sent here to follow the Picasso trail.”

“Picasso trail? So, it’s really a thing? You really think it’s your _Picasso?”_ He receives a narrowed look for that. Dean raises his hand to appease the guy, “Okay, I get it. It’s really him because of the gun… what am I still doing here?”

“Interrogation of the witness. You’re obviously still hiding something. Do not worry, I have given enough evidence to prove you are not Picasso. As I have said, you do not fit the profile and I should know.”

“How? You follow a pattern or something?”

“Yes and no. Serial killers are more complex, _more cunning, and perceptive_ than anyone gives them credit for. Especially Picasso. He is a master of his art and a _genius._ I do think if you weren’t there, he would have taken the body of the victim and dump him someplace after splashing his color of red. What we dub as ‘Painting’ using the blood from the bullet wound on his victims.” Agent Novak pauses, frown deepening. “

You being vigilant when it comes to guns could’ve turned against you too. Typically, though not majority, people who react to gun out of adrenaline tend to be more of a danger to themselves and others. You do not strike me as one which gives me this puzzle only you can solve before I compare my analysis to the evidence response team. In short, I’m not even asking for your cooperation anymore. You need me, Dean, I’m the only one between you and Zacharia trying to throw you in jail again.”

Dean snorts.

“You call this giving me a choice, Cas? But yeah, I need you.” He says with a little more meaning in his tone. If the agent noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He did, however, tilt his head on his side. A gesture that has Dean staring at the officer with heart skipping a beat at how adorably it was done.

Agent Novak’s eyebrows rose heavenly upward. “What did you call me?”

“Yeah—I mean uh—you can call me Dean,” he clears his throat, “I mean if you’re gonna make me a witness or something…”

Agent Novak frowns. “I prefer to be addressed as Agent Novak to you—”

“Yeah—fine we get that, Cas— just get me out of this mess. I don’t care what strings you are pulling but I don’t wanna be nailed for killing that guy. It wasn’t me.”

“Now you’re singing a different tune?”

“ _I’ll sing for you on my knees_ —” Dean sweeps tip of the tongue on his lips. The agent doesn’t react. Is he made of stone or something? “Just get me out of here.”

Agent Novak contemplates, then nods after a second.

“I said we need to be honest with each other. Can you tell me now what you were doing in that alley? Something that draws you up that alley, Dean?”

Somebody knocks on the door before Dean could answer. Both turning, they watch a man’s head poked in with corners of eyes already in a smile.

“Somebody ordered tea and pie?”

“Tea?” Dean blurts out, watching as the man enters with eyes on Agent Novak.

“He is British. It’s his bread and butter.” Agent Novak explains while Dean continued looking at the man from head to foot. Unlike Agent Novak, the guy wasn’t wearing his coat and suit but a black V-neck shirt with his badge hanging on his neck. He brings Cas the paper bag, flicker of fondness in his eyes before his eyes fall on Dean.

“Oh? The pretty murderer? Did you strike a deal with him already, Cassie?”

“No.” Agent Novak says, passing Dean the lunch box critically which the man reluctantly took. Cas can be grumpy while he eats, he’s extremely angry. Been exhausted for two days

“What is his name?” gray eyes glint over Dean’s directions, accent for posh.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Dean Winchester? _Winchester_? Isn’t that ironic—the guy afraid of guns is named after the son of a gun?” he smirks over at Dean who scowls over the pie he is already devouring. He can’t make any response to that. This Agent Balthazar with his British accent and handsome face who’s giving Castiel a meaningful look. “Hey, aren’t you in love with guns, Cas?”

“We can talk about my preference later, Balthazar, for now, I would like Dean to understand the purpose of our meeting. You can take a seat if you want to hear me repeat the same things, we have been pouring over for months now.”

“Oh, right.” Balthazar takes the adjacent seat in the middle of the two. He laid back there, relax with his grey eyes resting on the other agent, “You know I thrive to listen to your voice, Castiel. So soothing and always making sense.”

Dean glares at him. Actually, glares at the familiarity of the two. He wasn’t given any chance to express this tiny jealousy over the Agent he apparently is growing a crush for, but for the same of getting Cas’s attention, Dean shows he is already attentive the moment Castiel opens his mouth.

“Dean?”

“I can see dead people.” He says in one breathe, an actual imitation of the husky voice of the kid from _Sixth Sense_ but failed to be an asset grown up.

The agents gaped at him.

A beat passes.

Until Balthazar’s cackling laughter fills the room that turned heads from outside the conference room.

* * *

Dean scowls in front of the mirror after his lame excuse and went to the washroom after that smart-aleck Balthazar continue doubling up on his confession— just when Dean is to decide whether to like the guy or not when he is the same dick as Zachariah.

At least, Agent Novak remained calm, not even a crack on his smooth features and Dean finds himself not feeling as annoyed. He was almost certain that while his partner was laughing, Agent Novak was actually glaring at Balthazar. That eased Dean at some level but he was still a little stung.

They wanted the truth, right? Not that Dean actually can see _them dead people_ but that’s how it happened. Agent Novak’s pretty sharp though, the moment Dean stops, he goads him by asking about why he was unconscious beside the body. A little ashamed, Dean did say he had a little flash back. He went on about his father’s abuse—not in detail, but they get it. That shut Balthazar, even earned him another heavy gaze from the pretty blue-eyed agent, except Dean’s not really comfortable talking about his own stuff so he steps out of the rest room within the waiting area.

No one stopped him and he cools down. He stares at himself and sees the same old guy waking up in his apartment and doing his routine before going to work.

It reminded him they haven’t returned his phone. Cursing himself for the neglect, he opens the door of the washroom when he hears the deep voice of the angels.

“ _.._. _you think I should have let him with Zachariah_?” Castiel asks quietly. Dean freezes.

“No, you know I believe your decisions, Cas. It’s just that we’re breaching a few protocols here by taking custody of a prime suspect. We are under Kansas jurisdiction for heaven’s sake and you know how we’re we all get on like a house on fire. You know how subtle we all are with egos.”

“We have to see eye to eye with this one, I don’t care what they want with their self-image but it should not affect any investigation, especially keep a probable key witness just because they know _I want him.”_

“Oh, they know you want him badly. They want to parade him in front of the media too, show off that they got the serial killer. If we come any later, they would have made tabloids with Winchester’s face all over the state.”

“That’s what I was trying to avoid. A witness that must be protected but ironically got his face plastered on everyone’s screen.” Agent Novak says grimly.

“True. What irony is that? Good thing you immobilized their procedures and got the whole protocol active five hours later. Very quick, Castiel, just like you. You should’ve seen Zachariah when he walked out that room looking like he ate a whole bullfrog from a pond.”

“Well, he won’t have to suffer embarrassment if he wasn’t so keen on making Winchester his suspect.”

“I’m sure he’s digging something up now and before you know it—your brother will be breathing on our necks for initiating a conflict with the local, all because of one harmless pretty boy you seem fixated on.”

“I am an empath.”

“ _You hit the button of empath when you need to._ But I’m telling you, that boy looks ready to punch if you hit the wrong button. Do you know how these Kansas folks are when it comes to territory? But really, Cas, I wouldn’t have taken the same risk here if I didn’t know you. I’d say you’re just another reckless inexperienced baboon who wants to use his position. How can you be certain?”

“I just am.” He pierces Balthazar with a look. Balthazar looks amusedly back.

“Okay.” 

“Call it my guts, Bal. I think Winchester’s part is all a coincidence. He may have been on the scope of Picasso’s victim—I actually am looking at that possibility.”

“I believe you,” Balthazar says in blind faith. “I just hope the boy won’t start his testimonies with this ‘I see dead people’ charade for both you and my sake or it’s not FBI he needs but the BAU. Why do you thinking he would say that?”

“I don’t know...” Castiel’s eyes glint dangerously. Balthazar crosses his arms. 

“I had a feeling Picasso was about strike sooner than later.”

“Yeah, you did tell me you have a feeling Picasso will return but if you ask me, that pretty boy Winchester? I’d say he’s lucky that night.”

“I know.” Castiel answers almost too quickly. The two agents exchange meaningful looks, both reading the other’s mind when Dean steps back in sight and clears his throat.

“Why am I lucky?” he asks warily, looking from one agent to another. It’s fear first, curiosity second. Dean knows he is being careless by not asking the right questions but now that he thinks of it, he was going down some shit that barely sinks in. Blame it on the gorgeous agent watching him now, but there is no harm in keeping his head in the line.

The damn agents should stop being so distracting.

The agents both look at him, Agent Novak with a carefully blank face while Balthazar with lips curving into a smile but not reaching his eyes. Dean shivers. That’s a funny look right there—cold and grave. Is he trying to intimidate?

“Why?” Dean takes the chair opposite Agent Novak again, his own eyes narrowing.

“You could have died.” Agent Novak says without sugarcoating.

“Think I didn’t know that?” Dean shrugs. There was a gun, dammit.

Balthazar whistles.

“You’re either very brave or an idiot but they say its both a gift.” He sizes Dean up before throwing another look on his partner. “What do you think?”

“I think he is a little bit of both.” Castiel says somberly, but not without a twinkle in his eyes. Dean shivers when the blue just take him in too with wonder.

“Hey, I’m here you know. And stop talking about me, you can ask me. Nothing I can do if you don’t believe what I said, but I told you. I saw a face of a dead man walking. I think it was two years ago when I saw his face on the obituary page—”

“Hey, whoa! Back up!” Balthazar raises both hands, “ _two years ago?”_

Dean nods. “I uh… I was checking the job section when I saw his face. I uh… I never am wrong when it comes to faces, it’s something I think I’m good at. Yeah, good at remembering faces. So, two years ago, this woman’s—”

“Woman?” Castiel says sharply, sitting up. Dean nods again.

“Yeah. Her name sounded like Abaddon something, died of an airplane crash and uh— I just remember faces okay? I didn’t want to tell anyone— I can’t tell those whackos you call detectives. I might be an idiot, but I at least know what happens to guys convicted of mental instability at a scene and uh… my father was… anyways, I was walking down the street that night and couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her. Abaddon.”

“Couldn’t it be a twin?” Castiel asks.

“No, I’m sure. It’s a perfect copy.”

Balthazar snorts. “You _can’t be_ that sure.”

Dean zeroes in on him gets quite satisfied when he gets Balthazar’s expression turned serious. “Believe me, that’s what I told myself when I saw her… her cheeks—it’s less hollow and her skin’s a little toner tan, but other than that…I’m sure it’s her so I followed her—”

“But Winchester,” Agent Novak interrupts him, “ _how can you be so sure?”_

It’s Dean’s turn to gape now.

“I just am.” He says simply, a perfect imitation of Castiel’s words a while ago. Their eyes lock and the spark is overwhelming. It’s magnetic enough to hypnotize— and Dean finds himself eager for more. The agent doesn’t look too keen to cut the connection either.

“Okay, love birds.” Balthazar knocks on the table. Dean snaps him a look while Castiel only averted his eyes, not moving. “Cas, you still believe him?”

“One way to find out.” Castiel squints.

Dean’s cheek warms up. The way Castiel’s eyes just disappear behind all the crinkles and wrinkles on this nose gets him all the fuzzy feels. How the hell can something so simple look so… _irresistible!?_ He internally shivers how he moistens his pink lips, couldn’t help not looking down—but Castiel’s eyes pull him back again. There really is something in that. This between them.

 _“Oh, jesus.”_ Balthazar groans. “Please tell me this is not going to be a thing?”

If Dean was already blushing, he did so more furiously after.

* * *

Balthazar went out to get the video footage Castiel requested after Dean’s abrupt story. Dean knows it doesn’t make any sense for others, but if there’s one guy ready to throw everything to believe him, he might as well trust him back.

But his attention draws from the agent to the lidded black lunch box on the table feeling his stomach rumbling. He finished the pie before Balthazar could do another solo monologue. Dean is now ready for more. He steals a look at Agent Novak only to see him busy reading papers from the black folder. He looks back at the lunch box again.

Dean is sure Agent Novak gave it to him and have all the permission to eat, but he is feeling a little self-conscious in front of a very attractive guy.

“You can eat it.” Agent Novak quietly, half glancing up from the folder. “I would have brought five more boxes along in the interrogation room, then maybe we got better results.”

Dean makes a face.

“Well, there’s always time to get to know each other?” he suggests hopefully. Agent Novak completely ignores him. Scowling, Dean looks back on his meal. “You sure you don’t want this?”

“Go ahead.”

Dean doesn’t wait for any more preamble. He opens the lid and gets a little disappointed to see the green sprout on sweet potatoes but at least there’s a piece of protein stuff at the top of the vegetable bread.

“Gee, Agent… someone wants you to live till one hundred?” he ducks his eyes when the agent looks up with arching eyebrows.

Forcing a sheepish grin, Dean remembers he is the beggar in this relationship so taking the spoon from the paper bag eagerly, he tackles the only meat in the bun. He chews with gusto at the tender beef, moaning at the tasty meat that smells like its marinated in caramelized onion and melted cheese and that’s— that must’ve cost some bucks— _it’s too juicy and heavenly—_

The agent clearing his throat snaps Dean from his juicy meaty wonderland. Blinking opposite him, he sees Castiel staring at him—on his greasy lips and stained shirt. Dean swallows really hard and nearly chokes.

Thumping his chest hard, Dean reaches for the glass of water beside him, eyes tearful. He wipes his greasy mouth with the back of his hand, cheeks pink.

Realizing he must be staring too much, Castiel pulls his eyes back to his papers. Seconds pass where Dean just watches him too. Agent Novak’s profile is perfect on any angle, especially upfront with, then looks back on the remaining dish. Pursing his lips, he takes on the spinach.

Agent Novak never looked up at him again so he finishes the lunch box in peace, puts it aside, and stand up to get refreshments from the water dispenser. When he returns to his chair, Agent Novak is still reading through some files.

Dean sits down, clearing his throat.

“So, uh… I have a file there now?”

“Everyone has a file. It’s only responsible to keep tabs of everyone.”

“So, it’s true? You guys really profile everyone?”

“To be precise, any person of interest has a profile.” Castiel meets his eyes. He doesn’t pull away, leaving Dean scrambling to lower his eyes, flushing.

“G-got it. I mean, even kids?”

“Crime offense doesn’t discriminate.”

“So, like you guys really peak under Christmas trees and do sneaky stuff?”

The Agent glares, “We don’t sneak. That’s a whole different division.”

Dean leans closer with a knowing look.

“I bet it’s those James Bonds, huh?”

“Yes. Them.” The agent agrees, twinkle behind his eyes.

Dean grins feeling encouraged. He is sure Castiel is starting to like him—or like his gut too because there’s something twinkling behind his eyes. But the blue eyes fall back on the sheets of paper, making Dean wet his lips.

“Um, what do I do here to get your attention?”

The agent looks up perceptively, then leans back on his chair.

“I’m sorry, Winchester, we have to keep you for longer—”

Dean shakes his head smiling. Castiel calls him Dean on their alone time.

“It’s okay, I got to eat. I can’t tell you how you’re saving me right now. I barely ate anything these past few days so I was just so hungry.”

“I thought they must’ve been hard on you.” The agent fiddles with his pen for a moment, “I’m glad you’re a little okay now. It can be stressful to find yourself in a position where everything is against you.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I mean you got me out anyway.”

“I’m afraid you’re still not out, Winchester.” He doesn’t sound regretful, but a touch of feeling is there. He holds Dean’s gaze in a very assuring manner. “I’m sorry.”

Dean nods feeling a little sheepish that an agent should even be concerned. “What the hell, this is better than being stuck there… you know, with them. I think I am in better hands.” He says it with sincerity, the best one he can express since it’s not something he always gives on display. He looks away. Ah shit, that was a display.

“There is no need for gratitude. You and I are going to work to meet one end, and in reality, I am more likely to ask more from you. About this case.” He adds hastily, making Dean grin again.

“So, you said I just didn’t hit the profile that’s why you’re helping me,” Dean clears his throat, “What kind of profile do you have on the guy anyway?”

It’s like he asked a trigger question. Something about the agent’s face just closes into something grim. Dean leans a little away. Agent Novak acknowledges with a nod, tapping his thumbnail on the paper quietly.

“I can’t tell you. It’s confidential.”

Dean pouts. He pulls back on the chair and gives the agent a guarded look.

“I thought we’re working together or am I only the meatgrinder?”

“Meatgrinder?” Castiel knits his brows, “I can’t tell you everything except what you already know. Two nights ago, you stumbled upon a crime scene and became a prime suspect of a murder with your fingerprints on the gun. But it’s not any other gun and that’s when we were notified of the situation. I lead the investigation of the Picasso in L.A. I have been following this cold case for years, I know his method and weapon. But since I came here those two were thrown off the window, you know why? Because one—he did not kill his common type of victim which happens to be you and the guy you saw dead. And two—he left his gun in your possession.”

“No one can tell me why.” Dean

“That’s why this special liaison was made, Winchester. I’m just afraid we are working on something new here. He isn’t careless, but it is known that when serial killers kill, they only get violent as time goes. He started with a simple robbery to sexual assault and now it’s murder. I have been tailing evidence all leads to his appearance to no avail—until you came in the picture. But to reveal that Picasso is a woman… a dead woman at that, even I am not prepared for it. Most of his sexual assaults were indeed, of woman’s capacity, but most of his kills require precision and strength… I just am in the dark as you are… and there’s one more angle I am looking at.”

“And what angle is that?” Dean asks slowly. He didn’t like the way Castiel is looking at him but the door opens and comes to Balthazar now carrying a laptop.

“Too forever for them to get approval, but with a little badge flipping I got the footages you want from public CCTV.” He puts the laptop in the middle of the table, leaning just a little closer to Castiel, their heads huddled together.

Dean scowls. He stands up then puts himself on the other side of Agent Balthazar. It didn’t work so he worked his way between the two, peeping over the shoulders until Balthazar glances in his direction with both his eyebrows raised.

“Is this the person you saw?” he points on the screen. Dean blinks. He sees the same red-haired woman appear on the screen wearing jeans, the same woman he sees wearing a hood though the photo is a little blurred. The same woman who appears to be in the middle of an airport pulling her stroller.

Dean nods.

Balthazar points at the footage of her wearing a hoodie. “This was taken a month ago. While she was supposed to be dead.”

Dean looks from one agent to the other, then Castiel stands up quickly with his phone on his ears, leaving Dean staring after him and Balthazar to shake his head.

“The plot thickens.” He says.

Castiel returns, eyes lingering at him for a second, then darts to Balthazar.

“I called the BAU, see if they can upload the lead of Picasso being a woman. I’ll leave you to check Abaddon’s profile thoroughly see if you can match her whereabouts to Picasso. They’ll be sending Charlie here tomorrow, Winchester?”

Dean snaps his attention back to the agent, his lips drying. It’s becoming solid to him now that he wasn’t just in any common mess. He looks up inquiringly at the agent staring at him in surprising concern.

“What you gonna do with him?” Balthazar closed the laptop preparing to leave the room. He glances back at Dean halfway then to his partner only standing at the door.

Dean waits for Castiel’s verdict.

“Yeah, Cas?”

Balthazar smirks at his partner mouthing the nickname but they both ignored him. And suddenly, Dean finds his world revolving around Castiel alone.

“I told you, the presence of Picasso’s gun brought me all the way here from L.A, I was following a lead. I saw the photo of the gun and immediately responded to the interagency protocol. The forensics have not confirmed any circumstantial evidence and even if the direct evidence sees you like an accomplice, they cannot pin you as long you have me. But something still bothers me and that’s Picasso leaving you unconscious beside his murder weapon even when he knows it will be traced back to him. I don’t think it’s as simple as we think. Serial killer tends to be more violent as they progress and… I think he’s found his new target.”

Agent Novak’s eyes fall on him.

Dean went from a screwed expression to shock.

It’s a hunting game.

Dean bites his lips.

_Shit._


	3. Show

“Let me cut to the chase, you’re not off the hook,” Castiel tells him when Dean asks if he could call back home after getting dismissed from his prison cell, he is not sorry to see go. But it’s not threat Dean saw in the agent’s eyes as they both stopped at the corridor inside the Metropolitan Head Quarters in Kansas. It’s a mixture of that and another, “If you run out of that door, you’re out of my wings, you hear me?”

“I’m not gonna fly away, I promise,” Dean says, casually looking behind the agent and smirking. “Where's your wings? I’d like some feather if you just let me have it.”

Agent Novak glares and points at a door. “My office. Five minutes.”

Dean goes for the nearest phone booth, took some change and began his call. 

“ _Look, I’m fine, Ash_ , just tell Pam I might not make it tonight. I’ll let you guys know, okay?” Dean taps his fingers on top of the payphone. He eyes the exit door of the station with brows knitted, listening to his friend layout concern and stuff he has to explain to them. Dean hasn’t told anyone about getting arrested or nearly getting convicted of the murder that was taking over the media right now. There’s television by the information desk and he can still see the same footage of the dead guy getting carried on the ambulance, the same coverage and the same question on the television if the police had any lead.

Dean purses his lips when he sees Zachariah’s face on the screen giving updates and assuring the public that the culprit will be caught. He can never trust that face, the guy who told him 24 hours how doomed he was and there was no way to escape.

The bad thing was, Dean believed him. He eyes the detective disparagingly. He was a hair strand difference from becoming the primes suspect and could have taken the blame. It was really a close call.

If it wasn’t for Agent Novak…

Ah, and his savior just had to be so attractive. Does L.A make em look like that?

_“…Dean, you listenin?”_

“Yeah, yeah, still here.” Dean turns away from the television and awkwardly looks around station where everyone’s busy. Dean doesn’t buy it though. He knows he is still being watched despite Agent Novak allowing him to use the payphone.

_“Alright, as long as you’re not dead, dude. We thought something happened when you didn’t come to work and we heard the news about the murder, we were freakin here you idiot. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, but Pam’s gonna whip your ass for not calling.”_

Dean palms his face nervously.

“Yeah, I got it, okay…” his eyes darts to the office of the FBI agents Agent Novak told him he will be found once he is done talking to his family. Well, _not exact family,_ but near. Agent Novak is busy writing some stuff on his desk while looking at the screen of his monitor with his left dominant eyebrows just there, arched. Dean runs wets his lips again, distractedly. He doesn’t like how he is reacting too much to the officer. For one, his ultimate rule A is to never have anything serious with his clients. Not that Cas is his client, though he won’t be averse to the idea either. Thinking of that god eyebrow staring at him on the sack just gives him shivers. Dean is sure once all of this is done, he’s gonna have some serious problem of boner in the morning.

At least he’s got another prospect for his little private time.

As if the agent knew he was being watched, blue eyes cast up and meets his. Dean averts his eyes with cheeks flushing. Nope, this is not some petty little crush. The agent got him bad and they haven’t known each other for 24 hours. His eyes fall instead on the bulletin board up front where selections of wanted criminal’s faces are posted.

“Just tell Pam I’m with a guy, kay?”

_“Jesus, Dean. Tough times. If he looks like he can slay you…”_

“Oh _, he’s a slayer alright.”_ Dean smirks, still watching the agent. He had to look away when two officers walked by and ducks his head with elbow resting on the phone.

_“Ooh. You sound interested, Dean, that’s new. I thought you said you’ll never have fling again after Aaron Bass? Who’s the lucky guy?”_

Dean blushes furiously. He sneaks another look at the agent now busy on his black folder with the sexiest frown on his face. Dean sighs. “Someone out of reach, Ash…”

_“…you said you’re with a guy?”_

“Yeah, we’re just hanging out. Not yet his place. I’m dying to though…”

_“You mean you’re hitting on a guy married to his work?”_

“Something like that.” He smiles bashfully. “Haven’t done any moves on hitting yet. Things are crazy right now, but I’m gonna try.”

“ _Poor bloke, doesn’t know what’s coming for him. I haven’t seen you not try and lose, your sexy ass which is downright irresistible.”_

“I am betting my ass is irresistible enough…does not look like its’ gonna be easy though.” Dean watches the Agent again who has gone up to get some fax on the other table. Castiel sports a grave face turning darker while he scans his papers. And even that doesn’t remove the handsome and hot mixed together put in a sexy suit. Dean just wants to go stay near him. Get to know him. He sighs again. “I dunno, man. This guy is making me nervous.” Which was an understatement.

_“Wow, Dean you sound like you’re in trouble there. First time I heard you so insecure. Are you sure this is Dean Winchester?”_

“Shut up, I’m still plucking the courage here, okay?”

_“Plucking courage—jesus, Dean! You sound like you wanna marry the guy!”_

Dean ducks his head again, not answering. He didn’t know he could still feel like a friggin teenage girl with her first crush. His stomach won’t stop fluttering, and the tingling sensation at the back of his head every time he hears the agent’s voice

_“What’s the guy like? Someone blind or is he an idiot?”_

“A little bit of both.” Dean laughs, reaching a hand and rubbing the back of his neck feeling warm.

_“Oh? Is what I hear really Dean Winchester?_

“Shut up, I’m not doing that.”

There’s another chuckle on the other line. “ _How long have you known the guy?”_

Dean curls the cord of the receiver. “Uh… this morning.”

_“Aw, ain’t that love at first sight? Well, if you think you can’t really have him in the end, what’s wrong with playing around? You know, Dean we only live once so if you can grab em, go get em. Show him what you can do with that ass, let’s see if he doesn’t budge. Cause if he doesn’t you better walk away, Dean. Guys like that are either psychopaths or from Mars.”_

* * *

Dean knocks on Castiel’s office door but not before fixing the bits of his disarrayed hair on the glass door. He might look a little ragged but what he likes about his hair is how he can easily comb it down and still be a looker. Opening the door, gets a little annoyed to see that Balthazar has returned.

Not only that, but he finds them a little _too close_ for his liking. Balthazar has his arms around Castiel’s chair, leaning down Novak’s monitor with their cheeks almost grazing. They did not even hear him knock, or they chose to ignore him as both are engrossed on the computer screen.

Dean shuts the door. Both agents looked up, Agent Novak squinting and Agent Balthazar shooting both eyebrows in the sky in mock display of surprise.

“You’re still here?” Balthazar says in voice laced with sarcasm. Dean scowls and watches Balthazar turn at Agent Novak without bothering to step away, their nose almost brushing.

Dean controls the sudden thought of getting violent. He just got his name cleared.

“I wasn’t dismissed yet.” He grumbles instead, stepping in front of Castiel’s desk as close as he could hoping to catch the blue eyes. Agent Novak stays focused on the monitor. “I’m done with my calls. Do you still need me for anything here or can I go home?” He knows he sounds a little childish, knows Balthazar is catching up on him with the smirk on his face, but he doesn’t care. That feeling of wanting to trip Balthazar or just push him away from Castiel gnaws in his stomach.

Agent Novak’s clear blue eyes zone on him on the spot.

“Negative, I am still waiting for an approval from our head office that your name be put under a key witness status. We need to secure that you are safe, Winchester. We don’t know what Picasso will do now that his cover is blown. He or she—Picasso may get violent, or keep low again but I assure you, he will do something. The stakes are against you if you don’t get the level of protection that you need from this serial killer.”

“Yeah, I get that. You want me guarded at all times but you know I don’t…” Dean doesn’t begin about guns. He hates guns, but _he is not afraid._ Just slow reflex. He looks up hopefully to the agent again the butterflies in his stomach on the roll, “Will you be looking after me then?” Dean asks at once. “You know, be my guardian angel?”

He knows he might just be pushing his luck but it’s worth it. It’s rare to catch Agent Novak surprise and for Dean seeing how his lips part open—those pink, chapped lips wrought by overwork opening so seductively that made Dean’s toes curl. Dean had to hold on the edge of the table so he doesn’t wobble, his head already getting ahead at how it would be to taste, to feel the heat, and just take… he shudders at the thought.

There is that moment again. Does Cas feel that too?

Only Balthazar has to step in with the knowing smirk and crossed arms.

“May I remind you that you’re talking to the lead officer of a crucial investigation in progress whose expanse of work is more than you see an average cop do for a day, and whose talent and skills is equivalent to any top tier commanders and you say you just… want him to be your ‘guardian angel’? That’s a bit of stretch, don’t you think?”

Dean only tilts his head on the guy, expression clouded.

“Balthazar.” Agent Novak says crisply. He regards Dean, seemingly choosing his words properly. “I am trying to make arrangements as we speak to have you be under the protection of the FBI. Only until our Director approves it. For now, I believe the local enforcement can do the job, then we make arrangements with the Marshalls, or anyone capable, Winchester. But I assure you whether it would be me or Balthazar, anyone can protect you the same way.”

Green eyes locking on the blue, Dean straightens his head.

“I don’t believe that.”

There’s that stare again. Dean makes sure Castiel can see how serious he is. He stood there stubbornly for so long, not caring if Balthazar gets annoyed or what not. Once again, he finds himself getting drawn into this funny ‘stares’ with the Agent. If anyone had told him too much _eye contact_ like this was awkward, they have never met an upright soldier of fortune like one Castiel Novak.

“Excuse us a moment, Balth, if you don’t mind.” Castiel addresses his partner who double backs in surprise. Dean flicks eyes from the agents.

“Wha—Cas, I thought we’re taking lunch together?” Castiel didn’t answer so Balthazar straightens with mouth open, “I thought you and I are joined by the hips, Cas? Then one pretty green-eyed boy comes in the picture and you’re turning your back on me?” 

“Balthazar.”.

The agent throws a lookup heavenward.

“Good thing you’re really a sight to look at, or I wouldn’t have let this go.” He walks around the table, pointing to Agent Novak, “You own my lunch for this, Cas—choosing attractive guy over your partner— you better get on the fifth base for that.” 

“There’s no fifth base,” Dean mutters but Balthazar only winks at him.

“I’m sorry.” Agent Novak tells Dean, motioning for Dean to sit down when Balthazar left the room chuckling to himself. “He’s only messing around.”

Dean takes the chair opposite the table reluctantly. He watches the agent type for a few seconds before the itching question couldn’t be contained anymore. “Is he… you know…”

Castiel glances inquiringly.

“I mean. He’s awfully too friendly with you. How long have you known each other again? Seven?”

Castiel stays quiet, just staring at him with heavy-duty eyes that can probably see through Dean’s. And Dean is showing everything on the card.

“I believe I am the FBI here, Winchester.”

“What? I answered your questions.”

“About the _case_ which actually saved you from prison.”

“And? If I’m gonna start trusting you, Cas, I should know this stuff.”

“I do not see the connection of this with our current case.”

“You don’t but I do. Just answer, come on. Is he your ex or something?”

“One answer will only lead to mountains of questions.” Agent Novak flicks on his file again. Castiel lowers his eyes on the page with his face on it. After a considerable amount of time, the officer returns to the first page and stares at Dean photo, then up to Dean again who is smiling now.

“Found something you like?” he asks quite more himself. “I got my number there, Officer.”

“If I wanted your contact details, you wouldn’t have to persuade me.” Agent Novak dismissed the suggestion, but he keeps looking up at Dean then down his folder. Dean can hardly get enough of the officer when every detail becomes more personal to him. 

“So… what’s your job aside from being cool-blue-eyed and dashingly handsome?” 

The agent looks up from the file with a thoughtful look, giving Dean a start. 

“I am a Special Agent.”

Dean leans forward eagerly liking the way the agent’s eyes dilate at the sudden movement. Agent Novak’s face continues to remain deadpan, uninterested but it’s going to take more than that to deter Dean. The fact that Agent Novak chose him over his partner just now is a proof of a building connection and Dean’s going to yank that hard until he gets close enough to pull on those collars. Ash is right. _You only live once._

“Then can I ask one last question? It’s the last one, I promise and I won’t nag again about your partner, so just answer okay?””

The Agent gives him a shrewd look like Dean is holding a gun on his face.

“You may, but I cannot promise an answer.”

Dean nods eagerly. _“Are you single?”_

The question takes the Agent by surprise, Dean can see that. The way the blue eyes bounce back to him a little wide though his expression remained as schooled as ever.

“Well?” Dean presses on. Castiel sets his jaw.

“Bringing the question in suggests a marking interest, Winchester.”

“I mean, yeah, I thought we’ve established that. Well?”

Dominant eyebrows shoot up the sky until once again they are interrupted when another officer in local brown uniform knocks on the door, interrupting the moment. Dean swore and bows his head, fist tapping lightly on the table.

“Agent, this is from the Chief,” says the police whose name tag reads as M. Inias. He steps in carrying one folder and a clipboard on his hands, nodding to the FBI agent and handing him the clipboard. Agent Novak nods at him and takes the clipboard quietly then read the content while the sheriff stood a few feet from Dean.

“Officer Zacharia is pulling Winchester’s name from the list of suspects, then.” Agent Novak begins, eyes flickering at Dean. Dean’s eyes fall quickly on the clipboard then to the Sheriff who brought it. He finds Inias already watching him from the corner of his eyes.

The officer nods. Dean looks down his knees, remembering how Agent Novak was making the impossible. To be able to pull strings does look like the FBI’s forte, but not for any invalid reason. Who cares, Dean sighs at the prospect of no getting nervous of being arrested again. He has no idea how Castiel can do that though.

“The letter came from the Director himself and a call from the top barracks.” Officer Inias says promptly, over-eager actually that gets Dean studying him. The way Inias’ mouth would twitch whenever the blue-eyed agent would give him a look, the way his eyelids wouldn’t stop blinking like he is blinded, is too telling.

Dean looks at Cas. The agent is plainly ignoring everything around him including Dean himself. He glares back at Inias who doesn’t seem concerned of him either. Dean scowling again.

Agent Novak nods but after a second, there comes the graceful frown. “He’s not issuing any protection for Winchester?” His glare has Inias’ smile disappearing.

“Not at the moment.”

Dean and Castiel exchanges look, then Castiel turns to his computer monitor with that deep lines on his forehead.

“That’s the guy on the bulletin news board, right?” Dean points on the A4 photo on the ground. Inias looks down his feet and hastily picks up the fallen piece from his folder. He straightens to take a look at Dean and the photo.

“Uh, no. This was a petty parking ticket offender. We don’t put petty criminals on the news bulletin.”

“You’re kidding? That’s the guy on the bulletin, the guy on your second most wanted? Frank Devereaux-someone?”

Castiel turns to Dean. “Frank Devereaux? The fraud specialist on the white-collar crime?” he holds his hands to take the photo which Inias happily provided. Dean shrugs and watches Castiel pucker his brows on the photo.

“This doesn’t look like him, Dean.” He looks up, blue eyes endearingly cool.

“Of course, it’s him. Just because he’s wearing glasses and long hair doesn’t mean you should ignore the face, Cas. I mean, Agent.” He shoots Inias a look who startles at the first name basis but Castiel is handing the paperback to Officer Inias. “Well, I suppose that’s another job for you, Officer.”

Inias blinks at Castiel as he takes the photo in confusion. He stares at Dean long enough before nodding at the FBI agent and making his leave. It left the two watching the door close before looking back at each other.

“Well, what now?” Dean asks, “Zachariah’s not gonna put me in prison anymore, actually looks like doesn’t want anything to do with me. And even if does, you think he won’t just use me as bait? I’d rather leave now without troubling any of you guys—”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Comes the somber response.

Dean freezes. His heart freezes. He forgets to breathe. He drags his eyes to meet the blue eyes all too intent in his direction.

“W-what?” He can feel his face grow warm.

“I can’t let you leave without protection.” Agent Novak explains, “Your life is in danger and if we wait for this approval sheets from the top, I…”

“You what?” Dean croaks, enjoying the feel of Agent Novak thinking of him and him alone in those seconds. “You… you can’t hold me here either.” Why is his throat so dry?

The blue eyes lower on the table looking contemplative for a moment before looking up again, looking decided.

“I’ll have you escorted back to your street. I’ll also put surveillance on your apartment to make sure nothing untoward happens.”

“You forget I have to go to work?” Dean points out, “And you forgot _where I work?”_

“Then I suggest you refrain from partaking in such activity until we figure out the best way to protect—”

“Hang on.” Dean raises a finger up. “Lemme get this straight, you want me to stay here until…?”

“Until I received permission to put you under Witness Protection—”

“Until when?”

Castiel presses his lips closed. Dean nods his head. Grimly, he taps the table and gives the FBI agent a flashing smile. Doesn’t matter if the agent is as handsome as fuck, it comes down to another detainment and people telling him what to do. That’s where Dean draws the line.

“Nope. I’m outta here.”

“I ask that you stay.”

“Nope.” Dean stands up abruptly.

“Winchester, this is for your protection.”

Dean hears that impatient tone, but he doesn’t care. The fleeting attraction to the FBI agents comes crashing down to his reality when he realized it was about to change his life. “You want me to stay put in my house and do nothing while I wait for your stupid superiors to give me five seconds of their time signing approval of my protection? Stay here as long as necessary—You know the meaning of inconvenience? Are you crazy? No—I won’t.”

“Winchester, this is for your protection—”

“Yeah, you’ve been repeating the same thing to me, Cas, but where has that gotten me so far? I’m off the bars and thank you, really, but if you’re gonna keep me here in your office that’s the same hellish thing. No. I’m not gonna be stuck in this place again! I’m off! Geez and you haven’t even invited me to lunch!”

“Winchester—” the voice grows a little forceful but plants both hands on the table with his glinting eyes. But Dean walks to the door, looks back at the struck officer who seems in disbelief that Dean is doing what he is doing.

But Dean also knows one thing— _they cannot stop him now._

“You have my number and address, right?” Dean says, finger gunning the FBI before leaving the room. Dean closes the door but he remained standing outside the door for a couple of minutes. His eyes fall on the glass window where he can see the agent still staring at him from his chair. Waving, Dean walks off until he’s down the corridor in a sec, determined to get out of the place, not wanting any triggers to set him off when his eyes found something interesting on the police bulletin board. 

“That guy… he your most wanted?” Dean calls to the officers on the help desk where one tall blonde guy is laughing with the others. Dean turns back to the mug shot and gets a strange fixation. He’s sure he’s seen that face somewhere. 

“I think I’ve seen him somewhere.” He says when he sees the blonde officer walking towards his direction.

“Yeah?”

Dean shrugs then stalks off the station feeling no safer. But as he crosses the street, he can’t help thinking of the blue-eyed agent who just saved him another week behind bars.

He will take a shower once he gets home, and then maybe thinks of Cas and that beautiful blue eyes.

* * *

“ _I knew you were an idiot, but not this kind of idiot. You were locked away and you didn’t even tell me this morning?”_ Ash tells him as Dean sits behind Pam’s Roadhouse joint. The local strip club owned by Pam and Ash catering to pole dancers, strippers, and hookers alike.

The bar was pretty empty with a couple of patrons lounging about the tables drinking and talking with their buddies or one of the workers that night. The death of the guy three nights ago spook most of the clients, though Dean’s not here to work. He’s been eyeing the stage, wanting to stretch away from the stress of the day. He got home from the police station took a good shower, rewarded himself some delicious meal, sleeping with all the bars and locks of his house set, and woke up feeling refreshed.

Still, he wasn’t here for any service. He just wants to dance the pole.

“Where’s Pam?”

“Oh, don’t be too eager to get your ass whipped.”

Dean finishes his drink and stands up. He removes his jacket, leaving him topless and wearing tight leather shorts. He flexes his muscles, leaving Ash whistling. “You usual customers aren’t here, Dean, pity.”

“I’m gonna stretch. Then just one lap dance, man."

"I'd rather you don't, but then works on you to keep the bad off so go ahead," Ash says, wiping a tall glass.

Dean walks at the back of the stage but before he could reach the spot, he hears a voice that made him freeze.

“What can I offer you, handsome?” 

“ _I’m looking for Dean Winchester.”_ It comes the deep baritone.

Dean snaps his head towards the direction of the voice. A guy in trench coat enters, looking around, squinting at the dim lights for a moment, until his eyes fall on Dean.

“No need, there he is,” Castiel says, walking toward Dean.

Heart fluttering, he makes his way to meet the agent.

And Dean Just knows this is proverbial. Fate. Because if not how is anyone going to explain the frantic beat of his heart whenever he sees the agent? Dean walks to meet him, face bright. He can’t help it. He feels funny and warm when those eyes fall on him.

Stunned, Dean takes back every foul thing he thought of Castiel about being a dick and an emotional bastard. He’s just surprised Cas came around.

“Cas?” The special agent is already looking at him _thoroughly._ Laser-sharp eyes pointed and absurdly blue.

“Winchester.” He says coolly.

Dean’s heart skips.

“What are you doing here?” he feels his body trembling and it’s not out of fear. Something else.

“I would like to discuss something with you.” Cas says on point when they stood face to face, “If I may pull you from your… _engagement today.”_

The blue eyes fall down Dean’s front before Agent Novak visibly looks away. Dean stares at him, then looks down. He jumps when he realized he was topless. He quickly steps back looking embarrassed. "I have work."

"There are not many people here," Castiel says, looking around.

"Yeah, well, literally welcome to the club." Dean crosses his arms, getting triggered by the aloof eyes. "I'm working and if I can't do iron the stage, I'm losing all my privileges here." when Castiel doesn't respond, Dean sighs and goes on, "I pay for my dances too, you know," he says but it's the truth. On stage, he can get around 1000 dollars only for a week but there are fees that had to be dutifully paid and tips to be given as well. He doesn't tell Castiel that.

Castiel looks at him grumpily up and down. "Then I shall wait here-"

Dean stares. The agent will what?

Dean internally struggles when he sees Cas look behind him for a chair. Dean looks behind him to Ash who shrugs, because an idea is already forming in his head- "I'm almost in for my lapdance, you know."

"Go and dance, Winchester. And don't mind me. But do be careful about what you do." the Agent flashes him a glare.

Dean groans. How the hell was he supposed to do a gig there?

"Yeah, yeah, FBI is watching." he groans.

But it was easier than Dean thought, once he takes up the stage. He sees everything there, lost himself once he touches the pole. The bright changing lights help too, but he doesn't lose Cas in the crowd that begins to gather in front. He knows Castiel's eyes are on him and the thrill it brought to his body. He loves the pole, he becomes the pole with the arches, letting himself go with his spine circling the hot metal of rage already heating under his palms. He invades spaces when he gets off the stage, but he is untouchable.

He only desires one. The crowd cheers. Dean doesn't hear them. He sits on Castiel's lap. The blue eyes round at him but it doesn't crack on the surface.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

"Shh... my job." Dean says quietly, leaning closer on the agent's ears, "We both want this quick, remember?"

"I'm not gonna pay you. It's against-"

"Geez, Cas," Dean smirks lat the sudden frantic look in Castiel's eyes. Dean gets dead set on lighting the fire in the ever-cool blue. "Just... relax. Let me get the edge off. I'm being professional here." And he was.

Dean begins slowly with their hips. just enough that the crease of his ass rubs against Cas' thick lap, going straight to his groin. Being painfully slow in movements, he sees the little reaction from his blue-eyed agent. He puts both hands on either side of the agent's head, then cards his fingers slowly up to his scalp. A flicker of emotion from Cas' face and he sighs but automatically grits his teeth. Dean smiles. He rubs till his ass cheeks are properly warmed then begins excruciatingly grinds his ass just right there on Cas' lap. Cas looks away, a knuckle raising up his lips. Dean can tell how much the provocation is affecting Cas. his breathing hitches, the warmth of his lips almost touching Dean. The fire behind the eyes of a man trying hard not to reach out. Not to touch. But Dean wants him to. He wants Cas to want him. And he wants to see more. He runs his fingers down the agent's soft neck, tips of fingers barely touching the skin to send chills. Then he twirls the fringes of his dark hair. The touch was barely there but it wasn't this that Dean is drinking the whole time.

[ ](https://angeltortured-artblog.tumblr.com/)

It's Castiel's eyes he gets high on. It's his drug. The drive to see more expression. To see Castiel. He pushes closer, biting his bottom lip when he sees the agent's eyes fixated on his. Tip of the tongue between his teeth, Dean groans and it wasn't a fake one. He is getting off with Cas- an entirely unprofessional thing to do- and Cas stiffens. 

Their eyes lock. Dean drags his eyes from the blue down to the building bulge inside Castiel's pants. Dean holds himself. He wants it, but not here, not when he can feel the thundering beat of Castiel's heart on his. He looks up at the agent, suddenly nervous.

Castiel stares him in the eyes.

"Hey, Baby," calls a patron from the corner of the stage smiling, "wanna do that here too? You forget me now you have a smoking hot guy?" The moment between Cas and Dean is broken but not the feeling. Before Dean can stand up from Castiel's lap, the agent grabs his wrist, his hold steadfast, but not painful.

"Now, can we talk?" Castiel says, sounding impatient. His eyes flicker over the other dude, making Dean grin. He didn't imagine that bulge there. Nor did he imagine the blush on the Agent's cheeks.

“One second.” He forces a smile before melting back to where he left his jacket behind the counter feeling like an idiot. He hastily pulls his black shirt back and pants on, then as quick as lightning, and is out in a matter of seconds.

He looks for Castiel at once feeling morbidly out of his scope. It’s surreal to see the agent in his working place. He finds the agent sitting quietly on one of the tables with three escorts already surrounding him shoulder to shoulder. Dean smirks. Dude enters with that look and FBI badge?

_Of course._

“Yes, I am an FBI. But I’m not a spy.” He hears Castiel say shortly.

“You spy on our boy enough,” Shaylene says smugly and between her wearing the leather tights and dangling diamond earrings, Dean thinks it’s too much for the Agent. Except Castiel barely bats an eyebrow.

Cas continues squinting at her. “Do you mean Winchester?”

“Yes, the one with the hot piece of ass everyone’s after.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.

“Isn’t your motto like, open up, hot stuff?” Monica looks down slyly between Castiel’s legs.

“No, it’s _Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity._ ”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Hey, stop smothering the guy. I called dibs first.” Dean pushes himself between them, his girlfriend’s chuckling when he scowls.

“You don’t have to tell us, cowboy. For all you know, he called dibs on you first.”

“You never told us you already got a boyfriend, Dean!”

“Who is he? Does he have a twin?”

“Them alphabet boys are always trouble, but I wouldn’t mind if I got something that hot.” Monica winks, still side-eyeing Cas.

“Nope, we’ll all be behind bars if they mass produce _that.”_ Dean grins, shooing them away before they can tease him further. He whirls to the agent only to find him shoving a paper bag on his face.

“I bought the pie.”

Whatever he wanted to say got drowned in the excited screams of his coworkers. Heart flipping, Dean slowly takes the offer, staring at Castiel. At least he wasn't angry. The agent tilts his head at the other escorts, blue round eyes inspecting and if Dean doesn’t know it, the FBI agent is already profiling them in his smart head.

“Okay, thanks…” he eyes him suspiciously. “This better not be a bribe… I didn’t know you were coming around, ever heard of a phone?”

“Of course, I have.”

They stand there awkwardly. Dean fiddles with the bag.

“So, what’s up? Want drinks? Do you drink on duty? Are you on duty or is this a social call?” 

“It’s an official business,” that was depressing, “I came to tell you the Directors have approved that you be put under special witness protection program until we identify the culprit.”

Dean sighs. “Ugh… just tell me what that means, because if that means I’m gonna leave my work—”

“You have to. For the time being.”

“Cas, I told you—”

“I am here to make a proposition, actually.”

Dean stops, the bag of pie slipping on his hand. Castiel immediately catches it, accidentally having to kneel down in doing so before it hits the floor. The agent then looks up at Dean like some sort of imagined fairy tale prince kneeling before his princess.

More screams and squeals. Dean can just feel his soul trying to jump out of his body, but he grimaces in the end because Cas still has that straight expression when he stands up. This gives it away and he dismisses the thought of actually asking of hands.

Damn, they just met each other yesterday.

“You’re killing me, Cas.” Blue eyes follow Dean when he takes his seat opposite the table. Shivers run down his spine at the intense look.

“I am actually proposing to save you.”

“Ugh… take it, easy dude, just show me the ring.”

Dean figures he must’ve said it out loud because that awful lot of dark hair he wants to bury his fingers on tilts on the side again, lighting fire all over his body. Good thing Ash comes out bringing their drinks in a tray.

“For the couple, compliments of the bar and there are more if you ask for it, Dean’s brother in arms are willing to give it an on the house just for you, uh—” Ash looks inquiringly at Castiel who squints up at him. 

“Agent Novak.”

“Ah _.”_ Ash says in mock surprise, giving Dean a naughty look and a wink. “I see.”

“Shut up, Ash.” Dean shoves Ash’s side who chuckles and reenters the bar shouting, _‘Dean’s badass blue-eyed agent on the house!”_

Another round of squeals. Dean smacks his palm on his face. Teasing comes light in the club and Dean sometimes is the number one instigator. Right now, instigating side down, he can’t even look the Agent in the eye without getting nervous.

“They sound like nice people.”

Dean startles. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “They are, uh… they’ve been my family since…” Dean clears his throat, “anyway, what were you saying about uh…. Proposition?”

“Yes. I hoped you would say yes."

“Stop confusing me." Dean says, tired of the game, "Look, just because you got that crystal for eyes doesn’t mean I’d say yes—"

“What do my eyes—” the agent squints.

“I said you have beautiful eyes, there happy?”

“Oh.”

“You have nice eyes.” He repeats.

“Well, that’s the last thing I expected.”

“Nobody ever told you the truth?” Dean gets curious. Does that mean no one ever got the best of Agent Novak? No one on the sack to share? But the agent having found the complement 'an object of purpose' only blinks at Dean.

“It’s usually a compliment to distract me from my real purpose.”

Dean nods, a laugh escaping his lips. "God, Cas... you and your life...well, Is it working?”

Castiel presses his lips and shakes his head quietly.

Dean snatches his drink on the table. “Oh well. But you better believe someone who’s seen every kind of hue. Yours are…” his voice trails.

The officer arcs an eyebrow. “Blue?”

“Better believe it when I say it’s _one-of-a-kind,”_ Dean says with almost a smug conviction. It’s rewarding when the agent gave him a warm smile that lit the room a little more. The important thing is Agent Castiel Novak is staring at him and it’s the only time Dean allowed himself to blush a little, and then fuck all, _winks_ at the law enforcer.

Nothing sort of inviting, right?

“So, what are we talking about again? About protection stuff?” Dean stares at him so hard with lips quirking. Dean thinks he might as well have flirted with a wall.

“It’s more than that. I also came here to ask you to participate in a simple test.”

Dean grimaces. Somehow, he is sure he is not going to like where this is going no matter how the agent is a pleasure to look at. “Excuse me? Test? What is this some blood test to see if I’m clean—?

“No, it’s…” there is too much hesitation that Dean did not expect from the agent, “I want you to join the special unit of the FBI.”

Dean nods slowly, eyes narrowing to slits. “What?”

“I am proposing that you join the force for the duration of the hunt. We could really—”

“Hey, what are you talking about!? From witness to joining— _are you drunk?”_ he stares at the untouched glass on the table where Castiel also frowns.

“No, I am perfectly sober.”

“Then get out of here.” He chides. He earns an earnest look of surprise but Dean puts his elbow down on the table, curious of the sudden quick turn. “Cause if you’re talking sober then you must be insane.”

“No, I am perfectly sane… but then most Psychotics think they are perfectly sane too.”

“Cas, I’m not kidding. Why the sudden—?"

“Your advice about Frank Devereaux turned out to be 100% accurate.” The agent says in one breath. Dean frowns trying to remember the name.

“Oh, the guy you said in the white-collar fraud?”

“Yes.”

“So? What do I have to do with that?”

Agent Novak surveys him for a moment, his thoughtful look such a pleasure to watch.

“Your accuracy of identifying someone from only captured images leading to the narrowing down of the suspect's location is incredible, Winchester. Even I was taken aback at your confidence—and I was a witness to your work—”

“Work— _what work are you talking_ —I was only pointing out the obvious—” the gods must be playing with him. Except there’s that meaningful glint on the Agent’s serious eyes when he says—

“It wasn’t so obvious to us. You have an incredible gift, Winchester… and I’m really looking forward to your help. And I was planning not to take a ‘no’ for an answer.”

Dean gawks at the FBI agent. 

“What? You mean you’re serious!?”

“I believe I haven’t cracked a joke since I began this job. My garrison often tells me I should not attempt it. It’s Agent Uriel who is the funniest in the garrison.”

Dean shakes his head, trying to sober up. It just doesn’t make sense, what the FBI agent is saying. He sat there ogling at Agent Novak who had no problem returning his gaze.

“I must be in one of that dream where you’re in it, but it’s you without the thick jacket and shoes— _I can’t be part of the police. Cas, I thought you know—”_ he swallows his words. He thought Cas knew about this issue? But as the feds would care about his little flashbacks— _no one cares—_

“Winchester—you are special.” Agent Novak says kindly as if to sense Dean’s internal struggle. “Your ability to recognize these faces in the speed of light, faster than a computer is a phenomenon. I am sorry for imposing, but I have to insist that you come with me—not as a prisoner or hostage—but as a colleague. And I’m asking someone who knows what good you can do out there when given the proper devices. Winchester, I need you. We need you in the force.”

Dean’s heart thumps. It’s quite hard to say now when Castiel does that puppy look like that.

“B-But I’m not qualified—”

“You are more qualified than any professional I know. And don’t think the FBI is only composed of people from the Academy, no. Most FBI agents are recruited from different fields of expertise. You don’t have to be a field agent to be a part of us. Do not underestimate yourself, Dean. You are more than, much more than you could ever be and I am going to be here with you to discover that.”

Dean’s sure he is blushing. No one has complimented him so hard except that time he gave a melting blow—which gets his pants a little tight.

Castiel leans on the table. “Is it working?”

Dean gasps looking gutted.

A plate of nachos lands on their table. Ash comes to his rescue.

“Any problem here?” he asks, staring at Dean questioningly then to the Agent who doesn’t move his eyes from Dean.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Dean nods at his friend, “Peachy.”

“You sure? You looked like you swallowed some nasty kale.”

Castiel frowns but he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s fine, Ash… am just getting a job offering from Agent Novak here.”

“Oh?” he cocks his head at the agent, “Finally hitting the sack, the two of you? I mean all that tension here is scaring the patrons— you’re still badged, you know.”

Ash nods at the agent’s badged trench coat while Dean sees heads warily turn their way. “Shoot, sorry, Ash, this won’t take long. I promise?”

“What’s wrong with kale?” Castiel asks when Ash disappears to behind the bar again.

“Everything is wrong with kale. Listen,” Dean leans on the table, “I don’t get what you want me to do—?"

Castiel raises his hands to appease him. “It’s not a permanent occupation, probably will last for a couple of months depending on our performance. The main agenda is to capture one person. A serial killer.”

“Serial killer?”

“I assure you, this will be less dangerous than your previous involvement—I know your preference to weapons and I will never put you in any position where you will feel comfortable or exposed at all. I have arranged this special unit to a specific location near the CCTV and information center so you can get everything you need. The department will also consider you a consultant with access to s. Of course, it means bringing you to the main city where my office is.

“Y-you trust me with this? I mean, I could be a terrorist or something.”

Castiel looks amused which somewhat aggravated him.

“No, really. I could both with a simple car and then what would your office do?”

“I do not believe you’re that kind of person at all, Dean.” Castiel says with squinting eyes,” “At least, to the best of my ability to read people… you stand out to me as someone… _different._ ”

“You callin’ me weird now?”

Castiel’s eyes darken. “And if ever a time comes that you do betray my trust, I think, above anything else, that is on me since I am the one pulling you in.”

“That means you’re also the only one who can take me out?”

“I will be the one to pull you out and return you to the safety of your home,” Cas says a little weary. Dean can understand. He knows he's been working Cas since the agent came by from the unexpected lap dance and now the nagging dates. Surely they are near in becoming a couple?

“Uh… can we keep it to ourselves? I don’t want your men knowing I can’t handle them just because they are holding guns next to their crotch.”

“Of course, Winchester. But don't think they will hurt you on my account. So, are you in?”

“Let me think about it, I gotta sleep on it, man.”

“Of course, Winchester. You do not have to worry about accommodation in the main office and your compensation. You will be considered a valuable asset and thus will be given a safe place to stay to protect you while you stay in Kansas.”

“And keep an eye on me?”

“Of course. Protect you.”

Something about those words gets Dean hopeful.

“Uh… Okay… so then… I’m just…”

“You said you're done working, for now, right? Let's go, I’m going to give you a lift, drive you home.” Castiel begins gathering himself from the table quietly.DEan can only stare so much. He doesn’t want to think anymore. He just wants to stare at the agent with his plush lips with its right words getting Dean’s jeans worked up trying to keep the bulge from being noticed.

“If you’re going home.” Cas says slowly, “I will escort you back.”

Dean would give anything to be his escort too.

“I uh… I gotta tell Ash…”

“I’ll just wait here then. Will it take long?"

“Dude, no. ” Dean says, ears pink. The agent waiting for him— it sends his whole-body shivering, his dick responding. He may not last a pole if Agent Novak’s eyes are on him. 

“Is there a problem? It doesn’t bother me if you take longer.

“N-no.”

“Then.” Castiel stands tall, eyes sweeping the club, seeing everything. “Ready?”

Dean gaped at him then stands up too, realizing Castiel was asking that they go home.

They drive all the way to Dean’s apartment. Castiel’s car is the typical black ford hybrid with the most interesting dashboard set he quickly turns on. The music, enough to say, was the ballad of a sort. He changed that quickly.

“You’re not gonna tell me off, right.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t make it too loud.” Cas says, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Music is meant to be loud, Cas. C’mon, you gotta loosen up a bit, shake that full head of yours and start looking at people.”

“I look at people, Winchester, then do my job.”

Dean chuckles. “I don’t doubt that.” He settles to one song of Queens before glancing at the driver. “You said the FBI are recruited from different fields. What were you doing before you became an FBI?”

“I was a professor in college—”

“What? _Exactly how old are you?”_

“I broke the set when I crashed the car on a chase—”

“You crashed this car—!?” Dean says in disbelief.

“They fixed the bumpers a couple of times but I told them not to bother with the stereo since—” he stops noticing Dean’s look of suspicion. 

“How many cars have you wrecked since you’ve been here, agent?”

Castiel pauses and Dean points at him—

“You don’t get to drive my Baby—you hear?”

“Baby?”

“My car.” Dean mumbles and the way his shoulder slumps must’ve gotten to the attention of the Agent. 

“Where is it?”

“Towed since last week.” Dean mumbles.

“What happened.?” 

“I uh… wrong parking. I was planning to get it back but then _you happened_. So, I guess I’ll be postponing for a week. This will only take a week, right?”

Dean grimaces at the silence. They drive to Century 22 Apartments, a 3-unit bricked building with one off-street parking at was empty. Dean scrunches his lips at the empty parking lot where he used to park his impala.

“Well, it’s home. Not too fancy. They have heat and water paid and the laundry facilities are secured too.”

“You recently moved apartments. I read your file.” Castiel offers as an explanation.

Dean grimaces again and pulls the door open. “Yeah, can you tell me why? See if your lot really do research.”

“Your house was robbed. Personal properties are taken.”

Dean stiffens.

“You have a stalker, Dean.”

“And this is where we say goodbye.” Dean forces a smile, closing the car door after him and leaning on the window. The Agent is still watching him with a deep look in his eyes.

“So maybe I can use the fed too if it’s about that… but you’re not gonna hang around here, watching my house, right? Because if you are, I’m gonna have to just invite you inside my house.” He inclines his head to the apartment.

Agent Novak blinks. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” He says.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” Dean says but he is smiling now. Somehow, he is getting the agent’s M.O. “Well, don’t expect my offer to stand too long, lots of people want this hot stuff, you know.” He taps the door, “See you, then.”

“Winchester.”

“Yeah?”

They gazed at each other.

“Take care of yourself, Dean. And please, consider the offer.”

Dean nods. The desire to know the agent know doesn’t sound so bad. Could help him remove the stick from his ass too.

“Yeah, I’ve already decided to do it. But one condition.”

Castiel’s eyes sparkles. Dean didn’t think that could happen and it was nice. Like starlight meeting each other and bursting in the color of blue.

“What is it?”

Dean doesn’t want to take advantage—but what the heck—

 _You’re gonna recognize I have a crush on you and that—think what you will—I’m alright if you suddenly wanna fuck me._ Is what he wants to say.

“Call me Dean.”

Castiel regards him. Dean gives the exact pressure back,

“Dean.”

And it’s like a spell was connected to which Dean revels.

Castiel smiles.

_“Goodbye, Dean.”_

_Dean walks up to his apartment door feeling safer than ever. He can feel Castiel Novak's eyes boring on him even as he closed the door._


	4. Super

_“Hello, Dean.”_

Dean was not prepared for the assault of blue against the blue sky above, not to mention the mass of jet-black hair that just screams to be messed with. He groans at the brightness of the eyes.

Here was the agent looking devastatingly handsome while he still has his bed hair and, in his pajamas, when he opened his front door and finds the agent there, donning the same trench coat but a blue tie now.

“Cas? What you doing here?” he lets the agent in, yawning wide. He slept pretty late that night mourning the fact that he didn’t get the agent’s number and swore to get it the next morning, only to find Cas casually knocking on his doorstep.

“I came to check on you.” he looks around while Dean gets on the sink to wash his face. Screw that, he whirls to Cas who was looking at his window pane with that constipated look on his handsome face.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Who’s preparing my coffee?” He grumbles, not waiting for a response—he hears Cas say something about looking around, but it’s not he’s got a stash of meth anywhere. He’s clean, always been clean since Sam accused him of using so he didn’t. He was still the big brother but the hooking up he can’t give up.

Of course, Sam was angry when he realized. Of course, Sam had stopped talking to him, but well, worse things could happen. He grimaces on the mirror of the bathroom. Worst things did happen. He shouldn’t be provoking fate.

He comes out after half an hour wearing his green plaid underneath the military green jacket and thick boots. He was sure he can outrun anyone if all hell breaks loose. He finds Castiel sitting quietly on the couch, flipping over garden magazines Dean gets a complimentary copy from the neighborhood.

Coffee was already simmering on the pot. Dean smiles. He joins Cas in the living room, staring at him curiously. Hot agent Novak inside his apartment, on his couch, reading a magazine. The picture was perfect with a morning cup of tea. Picturing Agent Novak on his bed last night was incredible.

This?

This is bliss.

“I’m sorry. I hope I’m not intruding.” Castiel suddenly says when after a couple of minutes, Dean chuckles in the silence.

“No, no… intrude every day… but I’m surprised you’re here this early. I don’t usually have visitors, you know. And those I know who come around don’t clean the mess on your living room.”

He wriggles his brows when their eyes meet.

“I only moved the trash. There was a box of rotten pizza—”

“Was there for two days. Arrested remember?”

“I surmised as much. I had to come early because Charlie—our research team head is already in town. I

“Are you sure? I’m not too confident with myself around this area, Cas… I don’t…”

“I’m sure you’re more than what you think you are, Dean.”

Dean smiles.

“Ready to go?” Castiel asks like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just call Dean his name.

“Sure, I uh… nothing’s gonna disappear here. Just… what am I supposed to expect here, Cas?” they walk to the door, Castiel

I’ve done research about your ability—”

“Like seriously—there’s something like that?”

“Yes, they call you Super Recognizers.”

Dean grimaces. “Yeah, cool. Only because ‘Batman’ is out of the choices.”

Castiel chuckles. “Do you know you have this special ability Dean?”

“Like recognize people? No. I just know I remember them. Some people think it’s okay to forget faces of people they see on the road, in my case, I don’t have a choice. I remember everyone. Whether your somebody standing at the bus stop, the guy who pushed me on the line, I remember everything.”

“You are special, Dean.”

“No, not really. I’m just… me.”

Castiel smiles. They entered his car and while Dean was pulling on the seatbelt, Castiel hands him a familiar paper bag hot with—

“ _Apple pie!_ You’re after my heart, you are, Cas.” Dean says in delight.

“I was hoping to catch you in a good mood this morning,” Castiel says. “I didn’t want you taking back your promise.”

Dean is too busy eating his pie to care. He was glad his mouth was full or he would have told Castiel seeing his face in the morning was a good morning enough.

“I mean… do you arrest hookers there this way too? _I bet you’re hotter when you’re actually arresting someone?”_

It’s Dean’s curse—him and his mouth. But it’s a calling—his trade. Though by nature he keeps away from officers as much as he can. But with FBI Novak? He might just bend many times over.

He doesn’t mind. Dean’s eyes sparkle.

* * *

It’s around half-past eight in the morning when Castiel and Dean arrived at the Kansas Metropolitan Police station. By then Castiel has briefed Dean on what he can expect from the investigation. It apparently begins with a test. 

“You’re fucking with me, Cas. I can barely stay awake reading a question—and now a test?” he slams the car door and puts both his elbow on top of the car roof, staring at the special agent with a disgruntled expression. He hates the way Castiel looks so amused and delighted at his suffering.

“Dean, it’s only a face-recognition test with one of our experts. I think you will like Dr. Bradbury. She will explain to you the details you can get some testing done. I don’t think you have a problem identifying people from a closed-circuit view. You are way smarter than you put credit to yourself.”

“Yeah, keep talking, but in my day whenever my younger brother aces his tests, I give him incentives. You practice the same thing with me?”

“Incentive?” Castiel tilts his head. Dean is getting used to it.

If only grumpy Agent Novak would ask, Dean’s itching to give.

_Everyone wants the same thing._

Dean licks his lips, his uneasiness suddenly melting into a more familiar zone. He didn’t dare try his luck with the other officers. That Zachariah was an absolute asshole who’d probably beat him and throw him back in jail with more cases under his name. Then fuck him again. But this guy?

He sneaks a lookup. He can blow this one or can _let a blow._ He can’t help it. He is been kept in isolation for three days. Dean knows how to pull some moves. He knows when he can get someone turned on like a lightbulb. It’s his job.

_Why not. He’d do it with a guy this hot any day._

“Um…” he sneaks a lookup, making sure to dip those long eye-lashes on his blushing cheeks. The agent’s face remains blank to nada. _Right… blowing it up._

But then to his surprise, he sees the officer flush a little, pressing plump lips tighter as he glances at the wall where Dean was sure the one-way mirror is located. Giving some signals to other officers who must be watching them, Dean sits warily.

_Shit._

Before anything could be said and done, Agent Novak hits the top of his head with his clipboard with a loud thwack. Dean gasps.

“Ow! What the fuck—?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Says the deep voice thinly, “What are you doing?”

“Get that thing off my head!” Dean fumes, can’t see past the necktie. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’re forgetting you’re still under custody, Dean. If you are unwilling to help yourself, I’d gladly throw you back in your cell. It does not do you any good if you do not show me _respect.”_

Dean glowers more on the realization that he is just been rejected for attempting seduction— _because apparently the fed-gorgeous-guy saw through him._ It snaps some senses in his direction. His embarrassment turns deeply into a grudge.

Castiel sighs afterward. “Okay. What _else_ do you want?” 

“How about some burger for lunch!” Dean exhales, mouthwatering, “I haven’t had a burger since yesterday, and morning pancakes at brunch are not enough! Will you get me one, Cas?”

“I understand, I like burgers too. Okay, then we’ll head straight for Charlie’s office.” The moment they stepped into the hall, Castiel nodding at the guard, Dean inches closer to the officer. Castiel glances at him then put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“You don’t have to interact with anyone at all, Dean. I’m sorry if I have to bring you in the office but we keep most of the footages here. I have copies of those I need, but who knows if you can see more than I can.” He begins to move towards the station, Dean following aptly till they are walking side by side.

“I’m not afraid of people, okay?” Dean says with gritted teeth, but the back of his neck is already cold. Castiel leads him to the elevator, pushing him off a little at the back and standing guard in front of him while the others piled in.

“Hey, Novak!” calls one officer with short brown hair with a tiled tag “Didn’t know you were comin’ back. You head to the chief’s office?”

“Not yet, I have to go to the consultant’s department.”

“Balthazar did say you called the other night bringing in another consultant?” he cranes his neck. Dean tries to stand straight, his lips tight, eyes focused at the back of Castiel’s smooth neck. He is itching to reach for Castiel’s jacket but figured he’d look like a real wimp. Above anything else, he doesn’t want anyone knowing about his little gun-thing.

“Where’s Balthazar?” Castiel’s voice turns crisps, calling for attention.

“He’s out on a case.”

The elevator opens and Castiel leads Dean outside.

“You okay?” they entered a room and he settles Dean on the chair. Dean takes a deep sigh and stares the special agent in the eyes.

“Cas, if you don’t stop checking up on my always, I’m gonna start to rebel and sneak out.”

“I hope you don’t, Dean. Anyway, I will be calling, Charlie. Will it be okay if I leave you alone for a while?”

“Sure.”

Dean waits for a good fifteen minutes when the door opens and he jumps on the chair.

“It’s just a matching test, you don’t need to be so nervous.” 

“I’m not nervous.” Dean bites back to the redheaded doctor who entered the room with a smirk on her face. “Where’s Cas?”

“Handsome Special Agent’s been called by the chief Naomi so you and I are gonna play by ourselves.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen! You’re too young to be a doctor!”

“And older people live under rocks, don’t they?” she says with a slight challenge in her tone. “Don’t worry, I won’t take your words seriously. I’m a professional.”

“Well, I’m a professional hooker, there’s no way I’m gonna let you cut my head or open my brain for your testing and leave marks all over the smooth skin, alright!?”

Charlie stares at him with a gaping mouth, before Dean sees the first sign of outburst—and then she is laughing hysterically. Dean scowls at her but has the grace enough to listen to her explain herself. He waits until she is standing straight again and wiping the tears off her eyes.

“You’re funny.” She says, rounding on the white table facing Dean.

“No, I’m hilarious.”

“Surely you’re joking when you thought I was gonna cut you up? I’m a research assistant in psychology at the University of Missouri so yes, it is arguable, I get curious about the brain and how it functions and such but hey, I’m here for the Face-Recognition test. But I wouldn’t put it past myself to talk to you more. There are new astounding researches about Super Recognizers and having one in front of me is such a treat.” She beams at him.

“You look like you’re about to eat me.”

“I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head, that’s what Castiel made me promise.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Cas told you… that?”

Charlie gives him a funny look, biting her lower lips, before nodding.

“Yeah, he was very specific about things. Anyway, I’m here to explain what’s going to happen. You’re going to take a Cambridge Face Memory Exam—”

Dean groans. Charlie props her hands on her hips and gives him a long look. “It’s just faces, it’s actually just browsing through Facebook.”

“I don’t do Facebook.”

“Me neither, but it’s an interesting instrument to study human brains you know. Lately me and my team have been working on how the mind dulls because of social media—”

“You don’t need a test for that—”

“Number counts. Now, are you ready?”

“Who’s ever ready?”

“Fine, I’m just gonna tell Castiel you don’t want to—”

“Sheesh, give it here!”

It’s only half an hour later when Dean is out of the room that he finally realizes that Dr. Bradbury is able to find his weakness in less than two minutes of talking with him. Is he that obvious?

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel walks up to Dean while he is refilling a cup of coffee. 

“Hiya, Cas.” Dean beams and takes a step closer, bathing in the blue eyes he’s missed in two hours. “Guest what? I aced the test.” The smile that did not leave Castiel’s face is most refreshing.

“He did not just ace it.” Charlie comes out of the room carrying a bunch of papers looking very excited. “He mastered it, Cas!”’

“He did?”

“Whoa, Cas, you look surprised.”

“No, really!” Charlie is practically dancing on her feet, “He got 100 percent on all the black and white footages even grainy shots with awkward angles!” she glances back at Dean who cocks his head and narrowed his eyes. 

“You’re the real deal, aren’t you?” she breathes.

“Still no on the cutting of brain part.”

“Oh c’ mon—it’s just a scanner, Dean!”

Dean turns to Castiel with clenched teeth into a grin. “It’s lunchtime, Cas. You gonna bring me anywhere?”

The Agent furrows his brows, but it's more of a habit than actual expression 

“There’s a small burger house across the road, do you—”

“Yeah, you need to ask? How about uh…” he spies Charlie still flipping on the pages in amazement. It’s beginning to make Dean uncomfortable. She notices their stares and abruptly shakes her head.

“Oh no, I’ve already taken my lunch this afternoon, enjoy the date.” She winks at Dean, “Peace out bitches! I will see you later Dean!”

Castiel suddenly turns to him in all seriousness after lunch.

“You now have to meet my supervisor. Don’t worry, she’s nice.”

“You say that, but that’s my impression of you when I first saw you. Tell me, are all the badass women here?”

“Yes.” Castiel quirks him a smile.

“I like this place.” Dean declares.

* * *

It so happens it’s not only the Supervisor who is there when Dean and Castiel arrived in Naomi’s office. Two other officers are also there with Charlie holding a black folder. Dean wonders if that means he’s already under the radar of the FBI. Then he berates himself. Of course, he is.

“Castiel, you didn’t tell me our new consultant’s this good looking fellow.” comes a drawling voice from one of the British officers wearing a neat black suit behind the supervisor.

Three pair of eyes shoot daggers in his direction, including the lady seated by the table, Castiel the other. Dean doesn’t like the broad-shouldered guy with his sleazy British accent too so he scowls. Even the other Agent behind with is smirking.

“Or not…” he clears his throat.

“Stop putting your ass on display, Ketch.” Says the other agent in British accent too. Dean shoots Castiel a questioning look whom the agent returned with a frown.

“This is Dean Winchester, a full master level Super Recognizer.” Charlie says from behind the Supervisor whose eyes are on Dean.

“Please have a seat, Winchester.” Naomi says, gesturing to the chair. Dean glances at Castiel once who nods at him, then takes his place in front of the white desk. He feels small all of a sudden. He’s got inches on Castiel and practically towering over Charlie, but sitting down, he feels too small.

“We heard plenty from Special Agent Novak about your abilities. He gave us a short briefing of your potential and with the situation. Backed up with Dr. Bradbury’s claims, we believe you will be able to assist us with many of our investigations. That is of course if you want to remain affiliated with us in the future. For now, I would like to discuss the current agreement between yourself and agent Novak.” She keeps looking inquiringly over Castiel who stands behind Dean in parade rest and fuck if he doesn’t look hot.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He pats his knees trying to consciously relax. “I mean if it’s something I can do…”

“Have you ever practiced your skills with official matters, Winchester?” she asks.

_She’s trying to bait you. Trying to make you reveal an illegal work in the past so she can use it against you. Make you her agency’s dog. They’re all trying to put a leash on you…._

“I’m a hooker.” Dean shrugs nonchalantly.

There’s a visible gasp from the giant guy with the accent. Dean finds him with large eyes staring at him like he is some meat or something. He wants to tell the guy to fuck off, but the ladies would not appreciate coarse language between men so he stays still. 

Later he’ll kick the British guy’s ass.

Naomi Jackson doesn’t even bat an eyelid that Dean wonders briefly if this is Castiel’s mother. Then again, Cas’s straight expression, even his carefully blanketed emotion has its charm. The supervisors have that kind of icy trickle that gets Dean wanting to bathe in warm water immediately.

It’s Charlie who breaks the ice. Stepping forward to Naomi’s side, she begins her rapid explanation as if a PowerPoint is right in front of her.

“Dean has successfully identified a great sum of 6000 faces in a matter of an hour, Chief. If we can get him to work on all the CCTV footage to mugshots available on the police database, every morning, there’s no doubt he can give us results within the next three days. Super Recognizers are acknowledged in London with a number of scientists leading the neuroscientific investigation on the functions of their brains. Even with the latest supercomputers, in comparison to Super Recognizers, the software still makes a grand error. We need someone like Dean to verify it in the end.” 

“We use Super recognizers with CCTV yes, but mostly they learn more briding the West Midlands train, bus and tram networks,” Balthazar says.

“There is no question that he is a Super Recognizer, then?” the Ketch guy, stepping towards Dean with dark eyes lingering, “There are an estimated 1.5 million cameras now in London, the city having the most number in all crook and corners, it’s quite easy to capture felons. Yet with the recent development of passive response, the Super recognizers have done absolutely marvelous job identifying suspects from simple CCTV footages, pictures of suspects and the victims as well., The hunt for missing persons, and having all that CCTV available helps solve crimes and find people. I daresay with Kansas Metropolitan’s shortage on camera, how can one pretty super recognizer handle it all?”

“I wouldn’t ask from you, at least,” Dean says quite frankly that got a chuckle from the other FBI agent and a giggle from Charlie. Dean looks the Ketch straight in the eyes.

“Look, I can identify people from the back of their heads walking along the street,” Dean says quietly, feeling all eyes on him. He’s used to that. You dance on the pole, you get attention. Still, he isn’t in the pole where it’s his body leading the action. This time it’s his brain.

“I think from burglaries before, so it is a very strange ability, but when it comes off, you are very excited. The thing is, every single time I look at a face, I get an identification, I notice someone, it's like being a rock star in your sort of own world. So, for a rock star going onstage, that's exciting for them. Put me in a room full of people and pictures, that's amazing for me. It's involuntary. You don't really have to try. You can just be walking down the street, you'll see that face so many times, I'll recognize them years later. Identify people from the footage. So, we'd use many different techniques, like link series identification, whereby we keep going through the footage until we notice anomalies, that same person appearing. We'll recognize that person, that would go to memory, then if we see that person again in another bit of footage, we'll start building a picture, and then we can start seeing, is that the person we're looking for?"

“We can use fingerprinting to identify them once captured.” Charlie nods. “With very, very good high-quality images, computers are operating at about the same level as an average human being. Super recognizers are still better than the best computers in the world. But with low-quality images, which most CCTV footage is, human beings still beat computers. I think in the future, what the situation is going to be, it's the best algorithms working with the best humans, the super-recognizers, to make the most accurate identity decisions.”

“That’s all well said and done,” says another voice. 

The rest of the group turns to the tall man who entered the room all of a sudden.

“Inspector Roman.” Naomi stands up and shakes his hand. 

“Please,” the guy called Roman turns to the group, then his eyes fall on Dean. “I heard you have found a superhuman, Agent Novak? Is he our Super Recognizer?”

“He is.” Dean is surprised by the sudden edge on the agent’s voice but it’s nothing to his mixed reaction when Dick Roman stands in front of him. 

“Security agencies should be cautious about deferring to the judgment of a super recognizer on questions of identity. perform that task and how likely they are to make errors. And where identity is crucial to the determination of a person's innocence or guilt, false-positive errors in those cases can have severe consequences. In the same way, police investigators might have a CCTV image of an unknown suspect and have to compare with a mug shot of a known suspect. It turns out that in those tasks, people are really quite poor."

Charlie steps up, “As awareness of super-recognizers has grown in the last decade, so too have efforts to recruit them by security and law enforcement agencies with a view towards minimizing errors. And with advances in artificial intelligence now able to scan thousands of faces at speed, a super recognizer armed with this AI technology could be a formidable force for the identification of persons of interest. That is—Dean is by far; more advance than any soft wares any company can offer. Besides, humans can adjust to the conditions that a simple computer AI could not. There are some conditions in facial recognition tasks where neither human nor machine is able to perform with 100% accuracy. Lighting, focus, resolution, head tilt, movement, and elapsed time since an image was captured—all these can add doubt to making a positive match.”

Castiel takes a step to Dean. "We are well aware of the risk, but with proven data, we can push this. We're living at a time where we outsource decisions about identity to experts and technology without really questioning their accuracy. We would just like to see more acknowledgment of the limits of this expert knowledge, because someone's life may well hang in the balance."

“Let me just work my ass on it, okay?” Dean finds himself saying as he stands up with a hand landing on Castiel’s shoulder if you don’t want me here, fine. But at least lemme give you an expert example on the job. Then you can all grovel your ass before me later. Come on, Cas.”

He turns his heels, hearing another snicker from Balthazar. He hears Castiel apologizing for the sudden dismissal but follows him aptly anyway. They both walk the corridors with Dean bristling.

“Give me all the fucking files,” Dean grumbles. “I’m gonna work my ass off with a hundred case in one night and make em’ eat all their words for doubting you, Cas! I mean, it’s one thing they doubt me—but you? It’s like they don’t even know you.”

“Calm down, Dean. It’s normal for us to butthead each other during meetings. It’s an occasional thing.”

“Yeah, what I saw there are a jerk and a horny British dude, a genius and your step-mother. You all make a team; I give you that.” Castiel grasps his arms and Dean sees a flicker in his eyes he hadn’t seen before.

“Thank you, Dean. And welcome to the team.” He says gratefully.

Dean curses how the guy can still look so collected, not to mention, handsome. He curses the other agents.


	5. Red

It was a long day.

Dean rubs his eyes tiredly having been in the same position for the last two hours. He’s not really the ‘stay’ type guy who’d sit in one place unless it’s his own couch, but he finds himself immediately glued to four large screens connected to sixteen separate cameras each around the city. The fluorescent lights above his head and the green ones on the corner help lessen the fatigue of his eyes that divert from one screen to another before jumping to the computer on his desk where photos of wanted criminals flicker one after another.

He doesn’t know what time it is, lost paying attention really. He didn’t know what made him commit to the job. He’s never really a social type outside his circle which only happens at night while the rest of his day is spent at home or on the garage where he usually stays to admire this car. 

Finding himself with the police—especially with the police was a development he did not foresee. He hated the cops. Been wary of them, but somehow did guy… this blue-eyed gorgeous guy telling him how special he is kind unhinges something Dean never thought he’d find himself in. He ain’t special, he knows that, but something about those razor-sharp blue eyes ticked its way in, see something in Dean he couldn’t see.

But apart from that? This was hell _easy_ for a job.

Sitting there in two hours got him 45 people on the list that he’d seen on different locations on a single day. Twenty of them go to the same spot every day and waiting for individual people out of pure habit. Ten do not follow and stray to different directions after their day's work which leaves him with the critical ten people on the list, he’s been monitoring from the video a month ago to last week and what he finds, he writes down.

Dean taps the tip of his pen on the table, green eyes illuminated by the screens when something cold presses on his side. Dean startles and looks up to find Castiel standing beside him with a can of fruit juice on his hand.

“Cas, you surprised me, man, geez.”

“Apologies,” Cas says and the smallest smile touched his pink lips. Dean is sure they are pink. He’s been checking them out since meeting the agent. Cas lifts his eyes on the screen with forehead crinkling to these lines Dean has memorized by heart, angles his chin a little so they are tilting awkwardly as he danced them back, a quirk Dean noticed from the agent whenever he is on his break which he doesn’t take a lot. “You’ve been here for almost three hours without coming out and it’s almost lunch break. I thought it’s time to um _… get you out_.”

Castiel smiles gummily, randomness that gives Dean butterflies in the stomach. Even with the darkness on, the monitor screen just lights up Cas’ features that even by with his shadow, Dean just knows those strong jaws will cut his skin in many ways.

And Castiel’s attention is all on him. 

“I didn’t know we were on the clock. I didn’t know I got some strapping guy watching over me. Why don’t you tell me your break time, Cas, that way I know when to uh…” Dean blushed under the scrutinizing eyes that zero on him, “Um… take a rest?”

Castiel slowly squints at him but when he nods, it’s like stars bursts inside Dean’s head.

“I think I prefer that. It would be better if we can monitor your time so you don’t get stressed. It’s still important you don’t feel trap here, Dean.”

“I don’t feel trap,” Dean says quickly, his whole body turning to the agent, a tune, and controlling the way he wants to jump up at the concern pouring over his well-being. “I’m fine, Really, Cas. It’s not like I mix up with your lot, I mean, they leave me alone enough as it is.”

“They do?” 

Somehow Dean has this notion that some guy with blue eyes is the reason for that. He imagines Castiel telling the task force to leave Dean alone. That only he can be friendly with the civilian consultant. The shivers it sent his spine is enough for him to want to go right up the comfort room and wash with cold water.

Castiel fixes him a steady look, deeply searching something in Dean’s eyes. When it seems he found it, he quirks his eyebrows and motions for the door.

“In any case, I rather you join me for lunch. I hate to think you alone too much with those faces staring down at you. Sometimes I think you work too hard, Dean. I think you need someone to remind you it’s okay to rest. This is not a compulsory job.”

Dean stands up and slides on his jacket then takes the canned juice Cas gave him, smiling. “Yeah, I agree. And I’d really rather be with some hot guy 

Castiel doesn’t say anything but his little smile doesn’t go unnoticed as they both leave the room, the FBI agent opening the door for Dean and closing it shut after him.

“Where are we going?” Dean asks when instead of heading to the building’s cafeteria, Cas leads him to the parking lot to his BMW. 

“Lunch,” Cas says simply without another word and clambers his car. Dean pauses for a second before takes the shotgun with a confused expression.

“Seat belt,” Cas says, already buckling while Dean rolls his eyes. So, Cas is your typical boy scout with blood to get his and other people’s toe in line. A very large stick stuck up his sexy ass. But Dean thinks… that’s not bad at all. 

He looks around where he can put the opened can and found one near the shifter. He leans back after he fits it on the cupholder then looks above his shoulder where the buckle is hanging. Before he could yank, Castiel covers his space—breathe and soul left Dean as Cas’ jaw is right before his eyes, leaving him staring on the spot frozen.

“Sorry, it gets jam if you don’t do proper tugging.” The agent says and sure enough, gives one yank, and sits back in before revving the engine as nothing happened.

"Why can't we eat in the cafeteria? Did they like it… sent all the meat back and you're hungry for yogurt?"

"I'm not really of a yogurt guy."

"Then what?" Dean wriggles his eyes. C'mon, you can tell me. I'm not gonna poison you or put any love spells on you, agent."

"I see why you would want to poison me." Castiel gives Dean a side look. "But a love potion hardly seems necessary."

Dean chuckles nervously. "Why is that?"

Cas shrugs. "You are very attractive, Dean. Surely you don’t need to rely on resources if they actually do exist."

"I dunno… doesn't seem like its working for the guy I have hots on." Dean looks straight ahead avoiding the agent's gaze."

"You like someone, Dean?"

Dean swallows. "Uh… yeah."

Castiel squints at him in interest. "someone I know?"

Dean looms down his hand. "You won't believe it."

Castiel falls silent, then he smiles. "Okay. Um so where do you want to eat!"

Dean laughs nervously. "If you wanted to date me, Cas, you should’ve asked."

Castiel smiles gummily. "Well, tasked force officers are not really in control of their time. What about you, Dean?".

“You know about me. It’s what I do.”

He can feel Cas look his way and Dean does everything to avoid his eyes.

“I do. But aside from the pole, do you have other hobbies?”

Dean swallows, cheeks burning. "I'm fine… worked as a mechanic for some time… didn't finish community college because you know… gotta work for me and my brother."

"I seem to recall you mention him in Seattle?"

"Oh yeah. He works as a lawyer. He's really good. From Harvard and all. He's been dreaming of becoming one ever since dad… well, dad's not really one for clean parenting but… Sam left when he could but the old man had to be taken after when he got really sick… wasn't the same when mom died."

His throat tightens.

"You okay, Dean?" Castiel sounds worried.

"Yeah… just not used to talking about my old man."

"Did he….?" Castiel stops at the red light and looks at his passenger seat. The furrows eyebrows told Dean much of what the agent is thinking about.

"Uh…" he gets cold but the car seems steaming. "He can’t exactly win father of the year for one."

"He doesn't like very appealing to me."

"Yeah? You should hear Bobby diss him."

"Who's Bobby?"

"My mentor at the junk I work at… he's like a real father to me…" there's a tone of sorrow in his voice. Castiel drives when the go light blinks.

They drive in a restaurant where Dean hasn't been before. Fancy from the inside, it's the first time Dean saw on the menu is the steak and bacon when they are given the card. He turns to Castiel who is quietly watching him.

"Are FBI really that well paid?"

Castiel only smiles. "What would you like, Dean?"

"Uh…." Dean frowns at the menu then points eagerly. Once the waiter returns, Dean tells her his order but what has him stopping is how the waiter took one look at Cas and remains rooted on the spot. Dean frowns upon Castiel giving the order. Handing about the menu, he sees the waiter (blond dude, short hair) intentionally brush his fingers on Cas. Scowling, he gives the waiter a fierce look but the waiter seems too mesmerized to care.

Dean turns to Castiel.

"You always this popular?"

Castiel squints. "Comes with the job."

"You always talk to your dates like this? Always with the job?" he smiles. If anyone was gonna flirt with Cas it's him. They all gotta fall in line.

"I am not sure what you mean. But if it's an acquaintance from the force, then yes. Otherwise, we talk about hobbies."

"What hobbies."

Castiel’s eyes glint. "Guns. I understand you have no inclination to it, I'm sorry."

"No, no… I wanna listen. Been working with you guys for weeks, Cas."

Castiel looks uncertain. “I have a massive collection of guns but we can talk about it next time. What about we talk about you?"

"Me? Nothing is interesting about me."

"That's not necessarily true. I find you very intriguing, Dean."

Dean flushes. He finds himself looking at the table.

"Well, you already know I'm a hooker, and uh… even recognized me as someone good at memorizing people's faces so…"

Castiel only watches him with gentle eyes.

"I think there's more to you than that, Dean."

Dean must be standing in the middle of the sun. That's how Castiel makes him feel.

"Well… I have always liked acoustics and soft rock… I play the guitar when I can…"

"Do you sing?"

Dean presses his lips. "I'm not bad."

"I would like to hear it sometime."

***

“You got a little crush on Novak, huh?”

Dean jumps from the payphone. He sees the guy with the lion face staring at him with a smirk. Dean lets go of the cord, stiffening.

“No.” he says. It’s the truth. _It’s not little._

“Why are the feds getting all the sexy jobs.” Continued the guy, walking closer to Dean who stood his ground. His wariness caught the officer’s attention. “What? I’m not gonna hurt you unless you ask me to.”

Dean swore under his breath. If he wasn’t adamant about making people see how Cas wasn’t wrong in putting trust on him, he would have punched the guy by now.

“Kind of a dick, are you?” Dean says equally. He read the man’s tag _Peregrino._

“Yeah, well, you two looks joined at the hip, you’ve done it, haven’t you? That’s what you’re good at, right? Hookers working with FBI, not the first time I heard of it. But you think Novak got the hots on you? Cause as far as I can tell, he’s a married-to-his job kind of person.” Peregrino stands on Dean’s space. “I mean, if you got rejected, just remember there’s another uniformed guy here with waiting arms.”

“Fuck off.”. Wrinkling his nose, he ignores the guy as pushed past the guy in disgust. Right. Work. Seems like everything is about work with Agent Novak. Dean doesn’t know why he finds this adorable, but accepting the rejection isn’t as hard as he thinks it is when he accepts the card.

Who would choose someone like him anyway? 

Dean grunts. He knocks on the office door with Castiel easily smiling upon seeing him.

“Come in, Dean.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s happening with you and Peregrino?” Castiel asks immediately when Dean settles down.

Dean’s eyes widen. “Y-you saw that, huh?”

Castiel doesn’t repeat the question. He just stared at Dean with those burning blue. “If any one of them is bothering you, Dean…” he begins slowly, his hands tightening on his pen.

“Oh. Nah, it’s fine. I used to

“Doesn’t mean you should tolerate it,” Cas says kindly.

Dean can swear he can hear wedding bells right there and then. Castiel gives him this warm look hiding beneath the guarded expression of stoicism. It doesn’t fool him anymore though, he knows Castiel and still peeling him layer by layer.

“How is it like dating a super recognizer?” Castiel asks Dean out of nowhere. It came like a bomb and for all the Agent knows, Dean's heart catapulted to the wall. Castiel is looking at him curiously. Dean wets his lips.

"Uh… I dunno… You mean hooking up? It can be a little troublesome, to be quite honest, because you could be walking down the high street, and someone walking towards you, they might smile, so you think, 'Ah, I know that person,' because you recognize the face, but you don't actually know them, so you can't say hello to them. It’s weird, but I got used to it. Used to get my brother into trouble a lot… also, it’s hard to forget the names of people like boyfriends.”

“At least I know what you mean by that.”

Dean gives him a curious look. “What about you, Agent Novak. You some sort of the guy who keeps everything mysterious?”

Agent Novak’s eyes crinkles. “I’m just a regular guy doing a regular job I’m good at.”

“I think you are very good. You always wanted to become an FBI Agent?”

“Well, my family’s been big on taking charge of the law and order. Something we learned from our father as children. Three of my brothers work as detectives in Washington, I am the only one here in Kansas if that’s what you mean. I am told our family barely hug each other. At least Gabe is warm. He got all the warmth.”

Dean bursts out laughing. “You really are something, aren’t you? Okay, I get it. Not interested. At least you’re no like any other asshole police I know. And you’re ten times hotter.”

“Is it okay if I offer to give your name to a psychologist?”

“What—hey,” Dean slides off his chair and stands up with eyes wide. Agent Novak is giving him the same surprised expression. “Do you send people who flirt with you to the psych ward this quick when you don’t like em?”

Agent Novak gives him a dismissive shake of head.

“I do not, actually, this is more like a recommendation from a friend. I’m worried about you, Dean. Things have been happening—”

But Dean can’t keep his eyes of the agent. He watches him with intent, unable to understand the sudden calm. When the agent calls his name frowning with that adorable crinkling of his forehead when his eyebrows curt. He opens the folder and addresses Dean.

“Are you sure I haven’t met you before?”

“Oh, believe me, I’d know,” Dean assures him right as Cas picks up his phone. “Well?”

Castiel doesn’t respond. He is looking on the screen of his phone with wide eyes. He shoots Dean a quick look who leans forward on the phone and sees the horrifying message—

_Charlie is missing!_

* * *

How did this happen?" Castiel growls when he returns, Dean hanging at the back watching nervously as the FBI all in an office meeting with a grave expression turn to each other heavily.

There are exchanges of info and Dean volunteers to look at all the CCTV cameras where he can find Charlie. He sees plenty of faces, notes patterns and is in the middle of his last three picks when Cas joins him a few hours later.

"You must be tired, Dean." he says handling Dean his coffee. 

"I'm fine, I'm just worried for Charlie…"

"We all are." Castiel looks at the screen. "These three are your last choices?". 

Dean nods. "I'm about to review now this week’s footages." Dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Dean, you can take a rest."

"No. I want to find her." Dean says stubbornly. “This is the last place where she disappeared, Cas. And there are plenty of people who could have done it… I just don’t know why…”

“That’s the world…” Castiel drags a chair towards him and nods. Dean feels much better now that Cas is there sighs when their shoulders brush. “That’s why we always need to be vigilant at all times.”

"You know, she's really my first friend here," Dean admits.

Castiel smiles. "She is kinda hyper about you."

I know. Like she wants to dissect me. She's scary when geeking out about her passion in her job."

"And so are you."

Dean turns to find Castiel's face too close to his. His heart thudded. "I'm afraid for her, Cas."

"We'll find her." 

Dean nods, exactly as something caught his eyes.

Castiel turns to him. “What is it, Dean?”

“This guy…” Dean begins, staring at a broad man in a tight black suit, “He’s wearing a suit…”

Castiel leans close to Dean by the monitor, their faces are closer than ever. “What of it, Dean…”

“Cas…” Dean begins clicking the mouse in the speed of light with his heart-wrenching. “Will you believe me if I tell you it’s the same guy, I saw wearing a hoodie just on another street later this night around…. This area?”

It was a secluded place near a bridge where the lamp flickers on and off. It’s the last place Dean had seen Charlie walk from and never returned. Hen double clicks for a wider screen. It shoes Cas of another broad man wearing shades and hoodie coming out of an alley. Dean rewinds a little. The two watch a car driver there with its window open, the same guy Dean just pointed on the front computer screen.

The two exchange glances

* * *

In two hours, the operation is on the go. Castiel heads the operation with guidance from Gabriel who has informed the local police they are for back up in case things go south. Dean, not wanting to be left behind, gets stuck inside one of those gray spy vans filled with computer monitors and radio headset and antenna. Beside him there as Kevin Tran who introduced himself to be Charlie’s friend back in BAU-4.

“How old do they recruit people?” Dean asks, taking the headset that Kevin hands him. The man smiles with his baby dimples on one corner and together they listen to the instruction. The van is strategically placed by the back of the tall abandoned building at Elm’s street. They hear how the operation will be conducted. Dean listens intently until he hears Castiel’s voice on the other side.

 _“Dean,”_ the radio cackles.

“Yeah, Cas?”

There’s a pause.

“Stay there, don’t come out, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

Dean doesn’t know what to make of that. He listens to every step of the mission. Can hear the breath of the task force infiltrating the building. Castile’s voice… after the arduous wait, they got Charlie.

Dean and Kevin highfives until it was drowned by the sounds of a gun. The two freezes, Dean automatically thinking of the agent. Then aloud sound of banging doors so close to the van alerts him— he and Kevin looked at each other until—

_“Eldon Styne is escaping! He used the fire exits!”_

It’s not like Dean to just jump out from the van on to the street, trying to tackle down every suspect he sees in the daily newspaper. But yeah, he’s done a couple of things like calling on hotlines, being a good citizen when he sees familiar faces he’s seen once in the newspaper. But he is definitely more motivated for Charlie’ He can hear them say she’s safe, that she’s bounded.

But he won’t let his captor escape. He can be a danger to anyone out there so he runs after the bastard. And people like that don’t deserve a slap on the wrist just cause the metropolitan is taking their sweet time

Dean throws the door open and is after the man like the devil is after him.

Dean’s eyes widen. He sees him. Heavy built guy with prominent chin running like it’s the first thing he learned as a toddler. Dena shouts at him. Styne ran faster.

They go around the street to an isolated place. Dean hurries frantically, uncaring of his bowlegs hitting because they make him fast like that. He stops in the middle of a very dingy alley with no one in sight.

Heart racing, he turns around at all the passages. The sky is barely discernable from the thick fog from the building. He feels the stitch on his ribs. That’s also when he hears footsteps behind. Dean turns. There in front of him is Styne. He’s seen his face many times on the footage, to recognize it now as someone who abducted his friend, Dean can’t forget that.

Styne is blocking the only alley leading back to the open street while Dean is standing with his back on the dirty floorboard fence dividing this alley to the other.

He’s not sure if the guy is armed, but as long as no guns are involved, Dean’s sure he can manage himself. Until the guy pulls out a gun. Dean’s eyes widen as the dark eyes bore on him menacingly.

_“Not your lucky day!”_

He attempts to shoot— but Dean watches in amazement as the gun flies off his hand as FBI Agent Castiel Novak appears out of nowhere with his long limb whirling in the air. The next scenes are a sequence of Castiel and the guy in hand combat that has Dean’s heart hanging without beating. Castiel is good—excellent even, but the Styne is also kicking some punches that send Castiel gruffly on the wall. Dean yells before he can stop himself—

“Hey!”

The Styne turns abruptly at him, a jackknife that came out of nowhere in his hand when he attempts another throw in Dean’s direction. Dean steps back, seeing the Eldon Styne man slashing the air as he comes closer. But Castiel’s tackled him again and is beating the shit out of him. Castiel gets hit on the side of the head, but he counters with a quick throw of his elbow as he falls. Dean blinks in amazement as Castiel pulls the suspect’s arm behind his back in lockdown and face plants him on the floor.

Dean is breathing heavily when the criminal is caught. But all the guns, as long as they are not pointed in his direction is nothing short compared to the pair of electric eyes transfixed on him in wonder.

Then Castiel speaks, corner of lip bleeding and nods at him breathlessly.

“Are you okay, Dean? Are you okay?” Castiel repeats.

The red lights of ambulance and police backup vehicles surround the little alley with yellow do no cross blocks. Castiel is sitting on the base of an ambulance having just getting patched up. His black FBI shirt’s sleeve has been pulled up, a bandage on his right left arm. He watches as Dean approaches him quietly and stops in front of him.

"Cas..."

Castiel turns to him with lips curved. 

Dean ducks his head, eyes brimming with silent tears. "I'm sorry, Cas... you didn't have to..."

[](https://angeltortured-artblog.tumblr.com/)

"That was stupid, huh?" Dean grits his teeth feeling all sort of guilty.

"It's fine, Dean. What kind of agent would I be if I let anything happen to you?"

Dean mumbles something incoherent. Seeing the blood there on Cas' sleeves, his heart just wants He hears a tinkle of a soft chuckle, then sees Castiel’s feet planted on the floor in front of him. When he looks up, he is surprised to find Castiel standing on his space—and the officer wrapping Dean in his FBI jacket, both hands tugging the collars closed on Dean’s neck.

And he gets weaker until Cas holds him bodily to stand so he guides Dean into the sea of sirens with a protective arm wrapped around his back. 


	6. Yours

"C'mon Cas, you're all bloody... talk to me..." Dean can't take the silence. 

"That was pretty stupid move, Dean. What if I didn't come around on time!” Castiel says in reprimanding tone once he and Dean inside his car. He refused other treatments after that, instructing his team to gather all evidence from Styne’s workshop and see if there are other victims aside from Charlie.

"Well, you did come. Are you okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that, Dean.” He says quietly, “You’re in the middle of a situation where guns are everywhere. I’m sorry.” He looks him dead straight in the eyes and they share a passing moment of understanding. Then Dean shakes his head, flushing. His heart thunders in his chest, almost forgetting his phobia for a moment Then he realizes why he’s still there and not fleeing at the prospect of nearby guns.

“I… because you’re bleeding. I can’t leave you like that.”

Castiel raises both eyebrows. “Imagine how I would feel if you get hurt when I’m the cop?” 

“That’s not it.” Dean insists, eyeing Castiel’s bruised lips he is itching to touch. He lowers his eyes in the end. “You got hurt because of me.” 

“Mmm…unnecessary guilt. I usually do my job okay, I guess I slipped up bad I’m making you worry for me.” Silence fell between the two. “Why did you do it, Dean?”

Dean looks up at him, puzzling the question with brows furrowed. “Did what?”

“This. Why risk your life…?” Castiel gestures his head around them, pointing exactly as Lucifer drags the mute Eldon Styne at the back of the police mobile. The two watched as Lucifer shuts the car door then glance in their direction with a grim before taking the passenger’s seat. Blue eyes land back on Dean heavily.

“Run after the criminal yourself. You know it’s dangerous and yet you—”

“Where’s Charlie?”

“That’s where we are going. They sent her straight to the hospital.”

Dean sighs. “Good. I need her safe too.”

“Dean.” Castiel closes his lips sounding a little annoyed. Dean feels his eyes like an x-ray and embarrassedly looks down his feet once more. “It’s still not worth the danger. You are a civilian and putting yourself in danger like that is not recommendable, especially if you have a history with violence. You didn’t have to put yourself in a risky situation like that.”

“But I helped, right?” Dean says, meeting the blue squarely, “I did good, right?”

Castiel’s expression softens. “Yes, Dean.”

“Then that’s good enough. I mean, I didn’t do it for anything—your guys ticked me off. But really, it’s just because I can. I mean, it’s not like I can ignore it, can I? I’ve seen the guy twice in 6 months and when I saw his face in your bulletin as the number one, it all just suddenly clicked in. It was so easy, I probably underestimated myself.”

FBI Castiel Novak stares at him for what seems like an eternity, then taps him on the shoulder with a broad smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. It almost seems the clouds break out to make way for the sunshine. “Is it painful?”

“It’s fine.”

* * *

They arrive at the hospital to find Charlie sitting on the bed already in a hospital gown with her wrist swollen. Dean hugs her so tight while Castiel notes the FBI and locale police to look after her, calling at the headquarters to post them, and then heads to Dean who had listened to how Charlie never thought someone was stalking her.

“He was always there,” Dean tells Castiel on the way home after securing Charlie is no longer alone when her girlfriend comes around hours later. “Always shadowing her… that creep. I'm just glad it wasn't our Picasso, Cas."

"Me too..." Castiel silently agrees. 

Of course, Dean didn’t tell her that.

“Speaking of stalkers… what about you?”

“What about me?” Dean asks, “Don’t worry… I got it under control.”

Castiel doesn’t look like he believed him. And for a reason. They arrive in his unit and this time, Castiel doesn’t even ask to come with Dean around the house. Dean was busy fishing for his key when he notices it.

“What’s the matter?” Castiel’s already looking at the doorknob.

“Someone’s….” Dean hesitates, not wanting to show how panic-stricken he is. Castiel moves around his shoulder, easily peering from his shoulder. Then Castiel squeezes pass him, making Dean move a little backward staring at the agent.

“Shh…” Castiel says, finger on his lip as he cranes his head over the window. He slowly takes his gun out but tries to keep it from Dean. “Stay here, I will clear the vicinity.”

Dean did not answer, he is already frozen on the spot. Castiel swivels back silently to him with a transfixed glint in his eyes. “You should get back in the car.”

Dean is staring at Castiel’s right hand where he is keeping the weapon out of Dean’s way as possible. Dean instantly feels pathetic for letting his fear get over him. He shakes his head even though his heart is pounding on his throat.

Castiel glares at him. “I am an armed officer and you are afraid of guns. I do not think it’s the smartest move on the table, Dean.”

“It’s my house.” He croaks. To make his point, he snatches the agent’s left arm and holds on it firmly as his life depended on it. The blue eyes fall on Dean’s numbing clutch, then finds its way on his face. Dean’s already pale, he doesn’t worry about blushing.

“Fine.” Castiel whispers, putting a signal up his lips for silence, then turns half bodied to the door. He reaches for the doorknob and pushes it open. Dean slowly follows him. The living room is dark, Dean reaches for the switch and flicks it open. He can swear the room remained the same since he left it two days ago before he spent the rest in jail. 

The inside of the house looks undisturbed enough. The two stares at each other briefly, before Dean’s Castiel go to look around. The room is small, three steps in the contained space are the kitchen. Another turn in the toilet. On the other side is Dean’s room where Castiel makes his way, gun pointing steadily on the ground. Dean stays by the door watching him with gritted teeth. He can’t let the FBI always handle everything for him. Taking a deep breath, he quietly made his way to the living room. He rounds to the couch looking at the table. The remote is still there at least, with the clutter he left behind, two empty cans of beer, empty plate. Dean feels sick. Unless there’s a rat in the tiny apartment, he’s sure he left a number of pancakes there before running to the club.

“Dean.”

Castiel’s voice from his room draws his attention. Dean finds Castiel inside his room. The lights have been switched on and the FBI agent is at the foot of his bed, staring on it with a grim expression. Dean follows where he is looking—then gasps, eyes widening.

In the middle of the bed are his three brown pillows and they are arranged in a fashion Dean never remembered doing. They are aligned together in the middle with his gray blanket in disarray at the top of it. His bedside table’s also open with contents scattered on the floor. And on his gray blanket are obvious dry semen.

Dean gives an involuntary shiver.

_“Oh, fuck.”_

He wants to run away. Wants to go slam the door back and never return. 

This is the third time this has happened and now it feels even sickening. He wants to pick up the underwear of different colored Victoria’s Secret thongs on the floor but doesn’t want to go anywhere with a man with a gun behind him even if it’s Castiel. And he’s sure Cas has seen the panties anyway. He feels the flush on his cheeks is much more than the fact that his house has just trespassed again. 

It never felt more dangerous than now.

Castiel’s severe voice snaps him back in attention.

“So someone’s really been here. I take it, you’re not the one who positioned the pillows in this order?”

“No.” Dean barely recognized his voice. He looks up the ceiling with his throat going dry. A chill creeps up his spine and he wants to just bolt right out of there. Only Castiel’s voice is keeping him from running away.

“You don’t have a roommate, most of your things are singular in the count, the toothbrush, the mug, the sleepers—”

“Y-you already swept through my stuff?”

Castiel suddenly stares him squarely in the eyes from where he is standing.

“Do you know anyone who is behind this, Dean? That stalker?"

“Dean’s face crunched but he doesn’t confirm it. His silence is enough for Castiel to walk towards him, straight to his face. Dean almost has to step back so their noses don’t bump.

“Dean.” The agent can do some damaging staring, “Is this the first time your house has been broken into?” Dean loses the ability to lie to those eyes. Castiel’s expression is hard to discern—the agent has a master's degree in poker face.

“N-no.”

“Do you think this is the same person?”

“Y-yeah.” Dean can just get lost in those brilliant blue.

“Dean. Do you know this person? Have you ever made contact?”

That gets Dean to focus, his eyes dilating. The slightest contortion on the agent’s eyebrows shows and he takes an intimidating step forward. Dean watches him, his own head working backward to avoid any more of the closeness he’s dying from. Yet, Castiel doesn’t seem satisfied. He takes steps forward. Dean steps back nervously.

“You are a super recognizer—” Castiel growls.

“I told you I don’t want to be called that, buddy—” Dean’s back hit the wall. Castiel is staring at him icily. 

“You’ve seen his face, I’m sure. You’ve noticed him around.” Point blank, Castiel digs at Dean’s space, expressionless. “You know where he lives.”

Dean could not say no to that. He can feel Castiel’s heat radiating to him and it’s making him dizzy as it is. He nods. Castiel narrows his eyes.

“Where?”

* * *

Maybe that is the wrong answer because seconds later, Dean is chasing Castiel on the third floor going to the fourth floor.

“Agent Novak—Novak! _Castiel!”_ they are now on the fourth floor—the floor Dean pointed at heading to the stalker’s apartment number. Dean is frantically trying to stop the FBI Agent from arrest anyone and everyone out on his way.

“Cas—there’s really no need.”

Castiel ignores him. He sees the number he’s looking for and stops right there with a dark look in his eyes.

Castiel raps his knuckles on the door impatiently, lips pressed into thin sheets. He raps again and again. It echoes across the corridor. Dean sighs and rolls his eyes, especially when Castiel begins rapping in earnest with intent to make a hole. When no one answers, Castiel shoves Dean a little backward, move a step back himself and without a voice of warning—kicks the door open—

The whole frame collapses with bits flying everywhere.

“T-the hell—Cas!?” Dean chokes back both laughter and nervousness at the craziness of it all. He follows Castiel at once when the agent did not even look back and steps over the broken door purposely, Dean on his heels. And Cas' shoulders still injured, dammit!

Dean realizes he’s not afraid. Castiel is there with him.

The FBI takes one look at the living room almost identical to Dean, then heads straight for the room but before either can reach it, the door opens, and out comes the man Dean will never forget. He never forgets a face anyways. The lanky man he has seen a lot in his peripheral, even during his shifts where the man always waits to fuck him, but Dean’s had enough one time when the man nearly strangles him madly even before they could even start. The man with dirty blonde hair with and blurring eyes gaping at Castiel first, then Dean. The eyes widen.

“Dean Winchester—” he steps towards Dean, but Castiel puts one hand in the air as a warning. 

“Is this the guy, Dean?”

Dean inhales sharply at Castiel’s tone, then nods. “That's my underwear he’s holding on his hand.” He says gruffly.

The nameless man looks down his fist quickly where he’s still holding on a piece of cloth. Before he can even react—Castiel slams his face on the wall, seize his arms backwards expertly and in seconds and presses him back forcefully by the wall.

“You have the right to remain silent.” Castiel says, kicking the man’s toes apart and holding him still by the nape. “Anything you say will be taken against you—”

“You got it wrong!” the man tries to squirm out of the agent’s grip, but Castiel proves far stronger with one hand on the suspect, the other on his phone, calling backup. Castiel arches an eyebrow at him.

“What did you say?” 

“Winchester’s my boyfriend, asshole! I fucked that whore! That whore’s mine!”

Dean freezes. Castiel’s eyes flash. The agent slams the butt of his gun on his suspect who falls on the ground unconscious.

“I-is that okay?”

Castiel nods quietly as he hid his gun back on his holster. Quickly he drags the body to the bathroom where he cuffs him. While kneeling, Castiel takes his time taking the man’s wallet. He flips on the ID tag frowning.

“Gordon McKay.”

Dean pulls his head back. He is standing just outside the bathroom, his back on the wall. He doesn’t want to think about the name. Doesn’t want to remember that night either. He firmly kept his mouth shut when Castiel comes out of the bathroom with eyes on him.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Castiel asks once he slides beside him on the driver’s car with all the lights of two police cars apprehending the stalker. Dean steals his eyes as he watches Gordon get taken.

“Fine.” He mutters. “Peachy.”

“Who is this guy, Dean?”

Castiel stares at him. “Get your stuff. We’re going.”

Dean nods, can’t forget what happened that night, he woke up from nightmares in Castiel’s car. One of the disadvantages, he believes, is being unable to forget the face of a man who wants to murder you. Dean’s nightmares seem so real.

And many times, Castiel’s hands are there to prod him awake whispering, “You’re okay, Dean… you’re okay.”

Dean sighs and goes for it. He kisses Cas. It's impossible not to. Cas is too wonderful and beautiful and comforting… he kisses Cas.

And the thing about it?

Cas kisses him back much to his surprise. It startles him, something he had been hoping for that disappeared as quickly as it came. The agent looks at him quietly, a smile slowly curling from the corner of his lips. 

"I think I owe you dinner." Cas whispers.

"D-dinner? I think you owe me something hard." Dean chuckles nervously, touching his lips with his finger but Castiel only smiles and leaves his space. How can he do that?! A kiss should end up in some hot, molting fucking but when the delivery arrives, it comes second in Dean's mind.

Dean stares at the Chinese food in front of him, then to Agent Novak who is observing his reaction. It’s around 3 in the afternoon, just after they’ve both been cleared off by the hospital after all the injuries.

“I want you now to tell me everything that happened about this stalker.”

“Way to go with the first date, this including my number?” it was half a joke, but Dean doesn’t see any amusement on the Agent’s face except for the dark flicker behind the blue—and Dean knows he is done for good.

“I am not interested in any social acquaintances at the moment, Dean. And I know your number.”

“Right. You have my file, right? I guess you don’t know what the word _‘hooker’_ means?” Teeth clenching, Dean knows there’s no way Agent Novak is going to bring him places now. Quite right too. He waits for any sign of disgust on the agent’s face, for anything that would make Dean feel disenchanted but there’s none.

But there’s that heavy stare. So _intense._

Agent Novak is going to be the death of him. He is now sure the sexy agent is designed to give him the slow dosage of his wonderful drugs while he leads him to a painful death.

The blue eyes don’t falter from the x-ray vision it’s currently doing on him and that’s crazy. How Dean just-drinks him in. Castiel pushes the bag of food between, deadpan.

“For your hard work.”

“Cas, if you always treat me on a date, I’d make it my hobby to always chase criminals for you.” Dean takes the spoon eagerly and begins putting everything on his plate.

“Please don’t do that, Dean,” Castiel says, frowning. “Going after criminals is not something a civilian like do should be doing.”

“Yeah, I was just… never minds. Thanks for this, Cas! It’s been a while since someone invited me out—let alone eat with me.” Dean hisses and puts both hands down in surrender with a guilty look over the officer. “Sorry—didn’t mean to dampen the mood always.”

“It’s okay, Dean. But please, refrain from putting yourself in danger just to get my attention."

"Noted. I won't be all trouble." Dean asks smugly, biting on a large chunk of meat on his fork with a cheeky grin while Castiel narrows his eyes. Sounds of their utensils in the air, and then the agent is up talking again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Dean.”

“Ask anything away, you’re like my superhero.”

“To be precise, you are the _hero_ that should be recognized here. It’s amazing how you can remember a detail like that.”

“I first saw him while riding the cab. He was just there waiting with the others around October. I remembered him because he looks… I dunno, a little out of the picture? He keeps glancing around too. Then I remember seeing him there again last month so when I saw his mugshot I thought—that’s the guy I keep staring at by the sidewalk.”

“You must have some good memory if you can

“I always remember a face. I remember the face of my kindergarten crush even if I don’t see her around anymore. I can remember faces a lot.”

Castiel nods thoughtfully. “Didn’t you get scared when you ran after him?”

“Geez, of course, I was. But then I thought if he’s planning something bad in the city, and those kids I always see him watching from the corner of his eyes on the sidewalk is his target, I thought I gotta do something at least. I mean, I’m just me but I can do something like that in the least.”

Castiel regards Dean with his blue eyes twinkling, enough to make Dean blush very hard.

“Uh… your food is getting cold, Cas.”

“Dean, how did you get that phobia, anyway?”

“Oh…” Dean did not think his first date with the agent would end up talking about something he never _talks_ about to anyone. But maybe that’s what made this special. Because someone is asking and willing to listen. It felt so strange, to have a friend like that. Dean inadvertently sniffs.

He sees Castiel’s shoulder tense. “Dean, I’m sorry—”

“Nah, it’s not you,” Dean scratches his head and heaves a heavy sigh. “It was my dad… he’s a bit… rough on the edges since my mom died. I was just four and my younger brother barely a toddler. Fire in the house. Used to blame me for it. He’s a former military… he got dismissed because mom died and there’s no one to look after us. He resorted to drinking every night, he’d get his gun, see? The one unregistered. He’d twirl it on his hands, use to point it at me. Used to watch a lot of freaking war movies too. He makes me stay with him every night, Sammy always sleeping on my lap. Then one time he got really drunk and pulled the trigger. Our neighbors heard and since then I’ve never seen him. Uh… These social welfare people came to our house and told me we’d be staying away for a while. Eventually, I realized, I might get separated from Sammy so I did everything… worked my butt off the floor doing everything…”

Dean stops and takes the glass of water. He wished there is something stronger.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“We quit if you give me your number.” Dean smiles, dismissively.

“Actually, I think I will feel more comfortable with you having my number. This way you can call me anytime if anything bad happens.” Castielstands and heads for the couch where his trench coat is found. Dean follows his suit and they sit on the long couch, facing each other with that air of comfort shared between friends, shared between someone you trust.

“Ah,” Dean watches as Castiel takes his phone out and dials a phone number. “You memorized my number already?”

“Hardly difficult task.” Dean likes the smile that graces Castiel’s face when he clicks the call button. Dean’s phone rings and he answers. 

“Hello, this the pretty blue-eyed agent?” 

_“Hello, Dean.”_

Dean smugly smiles. Castiel is smiling gummily too and there’s about that moment that clicks between them.

There’s that link again. A short moment. Their arms are linked on the back of the couch and Castiel doesn’t stop looking.

Dean leans in, drawn by the quick breathing. He knows this much, he won’t be getting out of the couch with at least a kiss. He tries to feel Castiel's reaction when their noses touch, but Cas is only transfixed on his lips. Reading hunger on his lips, Dean draws in more but stops just a hair different from the plush lips.

"I don't know what you want, Cas..." he whispers, his lips ghosting over Castiel whose eyelids are hooded, mesmerized by the movement of Dean's lips. A touch on his neck, Castiel slides hands around his neck, and with a glint he had seen once on the man's eyes only during dangerous cases, he pulls him in to kiss.

It was like all the charges in his bodies were on fire. Dean groans at the first contact before really letting himself sink into the arms of the man. Castiel holds him still. Doesn't let him any closer but the way he kisses, pressing hard on Dean's lips, before pulling him in for a slow kiss, burning all the walls between them, keeping Dean's body against him, in control, has Dean reeling for more.

He buries his hands-on Castiel's shoulder, hardly caring anymore as he sits on the agent's lap and enjoys his lips on his. He gets Cas pinned on the couch something in his fantasy that has been playing again and again only to get true now. It sent spikes all over his body because it's happening. Castiel wants him. He knows Cas does. The way Cas looks at him now. Castiel stares at him when he pulls up, arousal only too clear as Dean removes his shirt.

"Don't worry," he says darkly, "I won't touch your arm." 

"I don't care, come," Cas says, hoarsely and his eagerness gets Dean quickly helping him out of his shirt too, their lips meeting at every opportunity. Castiel doesn't hesitate to feel him when they're both naked on the couch, Dean still on top and kissing. Castiel's hands are rough on his dick the way on wraps around his cock and jerk him while they kiss. Dean grinds his ass down the bulge beneath his ass, the same way he did when he lap danced on the agent and the two looked at each other as they remember.

Dean flushes and nips on Castiel's lips, enjoying his hand. Castiel runs his hands on Dean's skin looking up at him with open want and lust. And Dean has always wanted to see that on the blue. To be wanted, to be desired. But there's more, except Dean didn't ask. Castiel didn't say either as they ended up with lips against each other, Dean reveling at what's to come next.

That night, Dean comes almost embarrassingly fast from just Cas's hand. It’s not his fault those blue eyes can just drive him crazy. Cas knows what he was doing though and Dean gives him everything. The way Cas' cock reacts when he slides down the floor to suck him- that there was living Dean's fantasy. Cas is a hug, gets bigger inside his mouth. But Cas in contrast to his impatience and grumpiness most of the time, was surprisingly gentle when he finally splits Dean open. Right there on the couch where Dean will never forget how great Cas was on the sack.

They sleep on each other's arm soundly and Dean didn't have to worry about any stalkers or nightmares that night.

* * *

Dean groans to the brilliant sunshine bouncing off the walls of his room frowning a little. He gets a feeling something is off. Like who’s the bed is he waking up from, what time is it and why the bed feels like a sea of cloud on his skin. He shifts on the other side of the bed and opened his eyes to the creamy wall and table where he sees his clothes on the floor. A last attempt to salvage order in Castiel's part when they pulled each other on Dean's bed.

He blinks, then he remembers what happened last night. He was so tired last night he barely registered anything else aside from his body finding an actual bed and curling on his side. Cas was that good.

Blinking and feeling slightly sluggish, he rolled off the soft fabric, forcing himself out bed. He stands and stares around the room remembering that one time he was left the same way by one client who he’s found out from tv is actually running for senate-house four months ago. 

Dean is still wearing his clothes from last night but his shoes have been removed. He checks the clock and sees it’s 9 in the morning and fuck—no wonder he feels like beaten crap. They left Springfield. Dean sighs and grabs a few items on his bag before jumping in the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, he hears a knock on the door.

“Dean?”

“Hang on a sec—” Dean opens the door only with a towel on his waist and one bundled up his hair. He gives Castiel a happy grin when he sees the agent blink at him up in town, but it’s Dean who gets the surprise of his life when he notices Castiel wearing a casual white jogging pants, sweaty white shirt, and running shoes.

The agent has gone back from his morning routine and he looks so soft and sweaty and sweet with perspiration on his dark locks. Dean wonders if it’s okay to run his hand through all that mess.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Castiel says without any comment on Dean’s appearance, “I’ve been out for an hour, I thought you might sleep in, you were exhausted from the trip.”

“Aren’t you?” 

Castiel shakes his head. “I also had the cleaning lady vacuum the whole place this morning so we don’t trigger your allergy. Breakfast is ready. You can go downstairs while I wash up.”

“Thank you.” 

Dean watches him walk away with a pout, then snaps the door close.

* * *

Dean descends on the main floor where the dining table is set up next to the black howlite counter facing the stove. The tall white ceiling is remarkable but the contents of the table made Dean’s mouth water. His light expression changes rapidly to excitement when he sees pancakes, toast, bacon, and eggs. The sliced wheat bread is thick and there’s something about the bread pan beside it that makes Dean just want to snatch one.

“Why are you still standing there, Dean? Let’s eat.”

Castiel taps his shoulder as he walks past him. Dean nods following Castiel’s example. The FBI agent is now wearing his complete black pants, suit, and unchecked blue tie. Dean enjoys watching the quiet agent but enjoys the feast before him too. He takes a seat and begins rolling pancakes on his plate. 

“You eat this much?” Dean asks when he’s on his second toast while Castiel reads something on his 

“No. I do not know your preference for breakfast so I asked the cleaning lady to help out.”

“Dude, you need a wife.” 

“I need a cat.” 

“Yeah, return your cat and I’m straight outta here. Where’s Meg’s building?”

“The left one. Did you sleep well?”

“Pretty much. Much better than the car. Are you sure it’s okay for me to crash here?”

“I was the one who pulled you in the team, Dean. I would gladly help you out while you’re here in Kansas. Also, will be working closely together. I don’t want you running into any trouble.”

“What trouble—like stare for hours on CCTV and pointing fingers on people?”

Castiel smiles. He puts his hands together and gives Dean a long look. “You still seemed unable to grasp the reality of your special ability. You will be recognized as a Law Enforcement consultant with a salary of $25 dollars per hour, Dean. You will be on a desk job while we do the piecing of the puzzle. And as I have already told you, this is a special unit. A task force that will be dismantled once we finished the goal to take on the culprit, Dean.”

Dean freezes and slowly puts his fork down and swallows his food. 

“Way to make breakfast delicious, Cas.”

“I apologize.”

“Nah, I’m playing with you,” he grabs a glass of water, still staring at Castiel. “This guy… how many has he… you know, taken down?” 

“A dozen.” 

“What?"

“One of them my…the girlfriend of my older brother, Michael.”

Dean gives Castiel a horrified look. The agent shakes his head and clasps his hands together. “It’s alright. It’s been… two years since then. I have been investigating… but it always leads me on a dead end. Then two weeks ago, another brutal killing of one of our police—the same pattern, the same way— it… it had me looking at it again with a fresh start. I believed it’s done by the same person, Dean.”

Dean nods. He knows about brothers. He can sympathize. The idea of losing a loved one, Dean’s an expert on that. 

“I’ll help, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas smiles genuinely and Dean doesn’t mind sharing the couch till Castiel is ordering him for a shower. Which he didn’t have to take alone. too.

They reported back to headquarters around midday where Dean was sure almost everyone was ready to pat his back or something closer. He shuffles closest to Castiel who looks back behind him to make sure Dean is there before they are met up with someone Dean doesn't recognize. Inside Castiel's room, on his chair was a small guy with bright alpha eyes that just means to intimidate. Dean didn't know but it felt like he knows that chill gaze.

"Cassie, damn you, you look like you got laid." is the first thing he said before his eyes fall on Dean. "This is the Super recognizer? Dean Winchester?" 

Castiel and Dean exchanged looks.

The golden gaze smiles with meaning. "I want to congratulate you on catching the culprit behind Charlie's abduction... but we need to level up, people. While you were busy with her case, we got another victim dead. And it's Picasso's handiwork alright."


	7. Scream

“Who?” Castiel asks sharply. Balthazar comes in just in time with his eyes searching Castiel before falling over the man in the black leather jacket. He looks pale when he closes the door.

“Is it true?” he asked, eyes dilating from the agents to Dean.

The smile that appeared on his sly lips melted to nothing, leaving the agent pursing his lips. The unknown guy nodded. Castiel’s jaw sets. But Dean is more concerned because the guy inside Castiel’s office doesn’t only have his chair but also his name.

  1. _Novak._



Dean blinks. He thinks of that many times he figured out Cas has told him about his brothers. He was sure a brother was mentioned at the beginning, about being high ranked? Could it be? But before the question could even leave his mouth, the answer to Cas’ inquiry distracts all his thoughts.

_“Kevin Tran.”_

A flash of the techno kid with his quick smile and honest eyes shakes Dean’s memory. The kid who was out there with him yesterday, waiting for him in the same agony as the field agents operate with his surveillance. The kid whom he shared a high-five and who was waiting anxiously outside Charlie’s room when Dean last visited.

“Jesus.” Balthazar says, falling down the empty chair and raking long fingers on his face. Castiel turned a little paler, but other than that he showed no other expression. Dean longs to reach for his hands. Something he’s not sure if Castiel would object. This kind of uncertainty about the guy he’s just started seeing last night opens his eyes a little. Whether or not how open this relationship would be.

Then he reminds himself it’s not about him.

“Does Charlie know?” Castiel croaks. Dean sees his throat constrict.

The other Novak shakes his head, eyes still dark. “No. It’s not advisable for someone who’s just gone through some trauma, even if it’s just for a short time. We will tell her soon… I might be asking you to do that, Cas.”

“What happened?” it’s everyone’s question, except Dean sees the eyes fall on him curiously again. Like the razor-sharp eyes of Castiel, this guy also knows how to hold his. Dean wonders if it’s an inherited trait. He and Sam surely doesn’t share the same quality.

“What about him?” the officer nods in his direction. Dean shifts in his feet, remembering if the invitation as an FBI consultant still stands. The gaze, just like his FBI brother, gets Dean swallowing hard.

“It’s fine.” Castiel finally vouches for him but more so from impatience than anything. “You already know his status. Now tell me, how was Tran slain and where? He was just with Charlie last night.”

“He managed to get back to L.A headquarters after securing all the equipment back in the facility with the evidences confiscated from Charlie’s abduction to prepare for the trial. He disappeared after that. Those who last saw him thought he went back in his hub in the main room. But this morning when Gadreel and the others opened the facility rack, they found him there. On a table. Reading.”

“ _Woman Reading, 1935.”_ Balthazar says in a low voice, exchanging a glance with Castiel. Dean looks from Cas to his partner bewildered.

“What does that mean?”

“Hmm?” Black leathered Novak narrows his eyes at Dean, “Could it be? I thought you’re well informed by now having bee in the team for… how long, Cassie? Almost a week?” his glinting eyes fall on Castiel whose knuckles turn, lump bobbing up and down on his throat. Dean stares at them, puzzled.

“What does he mean? What’s—”

“I told you Picasso colors his victims red.” Castiel snaps, the same impatience Dean had seen him on the first day that they met. “It’s not labelled Picasso for nothing… it’s because of the way he angles his victims. His name was immediately romanticized when the first body appeared to look like the Weeping Woman, a Picasso master piece 1937.”

“That was charming.” Balthazar says with clenched jaw.

“The next body was found in an office of a woman… this time the Le Reve…It was that second piece of dead bodies arrangement that he was called _Picasso… and he murdered more using the same master pieces…_ like he plans to exhaust all of Picasso’s master pieces.”

Dean mentally tries to take all that in. “And? How many pieces of Picasso art are there?”

“Are you kidding?” Balthazar smirks at him darkly, “The artworks alone are staggering number 56, not to mention his doodling and craftsmanship. We feared the motivation for the heinous crime is not wanting to be Picasso himself, but believing the ‘ _Good artists copy, great artists steal_.’ The madman is not just stealing glory of Picasso… but one thing Picasso never had… _manipulation of living art._ This is the exhilaration of living art, I tell you. A complete sadistic way of devoted art. Then again, Picasso painted the most compelling antiwar pieces in the world.”

Dean stares at Balthazar before he gets distracted by the other Novak officer leaning on the table addressing his brother. The look on his face is grave. “We don’t have time to romanticized his evil craftsmanship, a man is dead.”

“Gabriel. Kevin was killed within the facility.”

Dean’s body turns cold. Castiel sounded so icy as he points this out. It’s something his brother nods slowly at as if expecting them to catch on quick. “The Hammurabi also disappeared in the lab. The gun used to kill Kevin Tran. So, unless you can give me a latest report about the killings on your hand, isn’t that why, I sent you here, Cassie? Or where you too distracted enough to do the job?” The older Novak’s eyebrows shoot up his hairline. Dean can’t hold his gaze. Castiel also doesn’t which only gives too much in their body language.

“You’re going back to L.A to investigate.” Gabriel stands up in al purpose, picking up his keys on the table as well as his sunglasses. “Leave any acquaintances behind, Cas. I want proper report this time. But good job on tracing Charlie. I think your bitch just need motivation.”

Castiel intercepts his brother by the door. They eyed each other and for people living on the edge of life, it’s amazing how a hurricane meets up a storm.

“Dean still needs my protection. He is still a witness to a second identity—”

“Agent, that’s not our priority right now. This is Kansas, they have local police. The killing happened in our own backyard; _Picasso can be within the FBI_ – I need someone I can trust back there.” Gabriel snaps. Castiel falls silent. Balthazar hisses at something that was said.

“Who’s your suspect?” he asks with hard eyes.

“Roman.” Gabriel doesn’t add anything and the three FBI agent look so grim, Dean can almost feel their anger ricochet across the room. “He is already under custody. Circumstantial evidence relates to his collections of counterfeit Picasso pieces. There’s also Ketch—”

“Ketch?” Castiel narrows his eyes.

“Yes. His affiliations to foreign groups only put him in also the angle I’m looking at. He happens to be affiliated with some cult background devoted to

“Yes, sir.”

Gabriel regards Dean. He seems to consider his next words and Dean is most inclined to tell him he doesn’t need any protection when Gabriel glares at Balthazar. “What exactly were you doing here, again?”

Balthazar rolls his eyes. “I happened to be the bridge between the hawk and the worms.” He chides. Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Get the job, Castiel will be assisted by Gadreel there. You also keep an eye on Charlie, okay?” he turns to Castiel “Don’t you think your partner can do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Balthazar steps in, “Yeah, about that. You’re all going to put me in front of the killing machine for… him?” Balthazar glances at Dean who scowls at him. “Sorry, boy, I’m not the angel who’s in love with you.”

“You’re enough.” Gabriel sizes Dean up, “Don’t worry, Dean. The British asshole

“S’long as he doesn’t start shouting the ‘British are comin’.” Dean mutters, wanting to lighten up the mood but fails miserably because Cas still looks upset when his brother left.

“Don’t worry about it, Castiel.” Balthazar says when the two looked at each other. “I promise you I won’t die.”

***

It was decided that all CCTV footages will be sent to Dean after that but it’s not what’s on his mind. The FBI kept the case pretty much away from the media, but he knows it will flood the tv screen soon enough and before he knows it will raise the last death a week ago—of Lane who was shot to death using the same gun they call Hammurabi. With twin. The case is getting insane.

“Cas—”

Dean runs after Castiel in the hallway.

“I’m busy, Dean. I will leave for L.A shortly.” The agent doesn’t even look at him now and if there’s anything Dean hated the most, it’s being ignored by one of the people he cared about. Sam included and that hurt a lot.

He grabs Castiel by the arm and pulls him back. He sees how flat Castiel’s expression is and how dead looks him in the eyes. He doesn’t like that kind of look. “Cas, please stop ignoring me.”

“I’m not. Didn’t you hear what happened?” Castiel hisses, looking around them in the corridor where the local police are watching them from the corner of his eyes. Castiel began marching to the parking lot again. “I can’t work like this, Dean. I need to concentrate.”

“I’m not trying to distract you—Cas—c’mon, we know how we were both working out ass out on this case! This isn’t about us getting distracted, alright?”

Castiel still doesn’t look him. Not even when they are crossing the empty parking lot and Dean follows the agent. “Cas, listen to me. This isn’t our fault—even if we did not do that yesterday—”

“This is not about what we did last night.” Castiel says crisply. “It’s not even about _you._ It’s about me who stepped out of line only getting my head about you, Dean.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is!” Castiel whirls on him, eyes glinting, “A week meant a life, Dean! If I was paying attention, this wouldn’t have happened! I knew the gun will be taken! I knew it will disappear somehow. I did all necessary precaution—but to understand now that my brother is thinking Picasso is only _within_ the fed? That’s a slap on my face! So, like I said—this isn’t about you. And you also have a work to do.”

“Then let’s work together—ask me come with you.”

“No.”

“Why? You said I have work to do—you even went as far as saying Picasso’s after me—which I highly doubt— I have never seen his actual face! For all we know he could still be in disguise! It doesn’t mean he’s an FBI agent too!”

Castiel slams his had so hard on the roof of his car, the sound echoing in the silent parking lot. It startles Dean. Castiel’s expression is not that of pain. It’s beyond anger.

“Just—Leave me alone, Dean. I got distracted enough.” He fires and they both understand it’s a low blow as they lock each other’s eyes. Castiel looks immediately apologetic. It also immediately disappears to his stoic expression.

Dean doesn’t know where to look at first. He knows Cas doesn’t mean it. But Castiel blames himself.

“I’ll call you,” Castiel says, turning around, hem of his trench coat whipping on his wake.

Leaving Dean staring after him.

***

“Come on, Cas…” Dean sighs, on his mobile and getting Castiel’s voice mail again. He is in the club on the counter and has just told Ash the miserable way of how his short fling with the FBI

“So, where’s your boyfriend now? He your ex now?”

“Didn’t even become us.” Dean drinks his glass in one take gloomily. He doesn’t get a teasing for that. It made his eyes sting. “He left me hanging, man… after everything we’ve been through, he just… left. And you know the worst thing? I don’t even hate him.”

“Forget about that jerk, Dean. You’re a handsome guy, you can get anyone you want.”

“Yeah, but I want him.” Dean ghosts his finger tips on his glass. “I like him. I got so drunk last night I called his phone over and over again. I’m a real mess.”

Silence follows his confession. There’s a sour taste on his mouth that would disappear. Has been there since Castiel left him and he misses him a lot. “Gosh, you have it bad.”

Dean pulls his crossed arms closer to his chest. He thinks of Castiel and how he hadn’t answer any of his text. Mostly he is asking

“Thanks for listening, man.” Dean stands up from his chair, eyes on the doorway when he stops dead on his tracks.

“S’matter, Dean?” Ash asks, blinking.

“Fuck…” Dean turns to face the bartender looking exhausted. He sees Balthazar with crossed arms, wrinkling his nose at the joint. “It’s Cas’ FBI buddy. I’m going before he makes himself bleed here.”

“There you are, pretty boy.”

“Fuck off, you’re not my angel.”

There’s a laugh as Dean climbs on Balthazar’s car. “Well, I might just be your demon. So, where to, Winchester boyfriend of the boss?”

“Home.” Dean looks outside the window with a sigh.

“OH, still boy problem? Well, Cas can be a little dense… but he’s a real trooper.”

“Just shut up. How’s Charlie?”

“With her girlfriend. So, I’m stuck with you.”

Dean makes a face.

****

“Has Castiel called you?” Balthazar asked, frowning inside Dean’s apartment and sitting on the couch with his legs into quarter pose. Dean rolls his eyes and went to the kitchen to get some water.

“No.” he scowls. That’s when Dean looks when his phone rings with Castiel’s name. Glad that Castiel is calling him. At least Castiel hasn’t decided to block him after all the ridiculous things and drunken confessions last night, he was relieved to hear Castiel’s voice—

_“Dean—?” comes the quiet voice—_

_“_ Hey, Cas—

 _“Where are you?”_ Castiel’s tone turns sharp. “Where’s Balthazar?”

“Fuck! Dean, get away from him! He’s _Picasso!”_

Castiel sucks air. There’s shuffle of quick movements. “ _Where are you!? Are you with him?!”_

“Yeah, he’s in my apartment.”

 _“Fuck…”_ Castiel curses, “Don’t turn your back from him, act normal, please Dean, I need you to be calm—most importantly— _don’t get killed, Dean!”_

“How did you know?”

“Kevin has a secret cam recorder on his headphone. When he was attacked it fell on the ground and it recorded everything from there— _Dean, I’m on my way back—I’m in Kansas now! You think you can get away from him?”_

A sudden inspiration strikes Dean. “Cas, I can keep him here till you come.”

“NO!”

“Cas, I can… I can work him up… seduce him…you told me that’s most serial killer’s intention, right?”

 _“Dean, please!”_ he a feel the vibration of Cas’ worry, “Don’t do this to me, Dean…”

“Cas… don’t you trust me?” Dean finds Balthazar still frowning on the couch over the mess of pizza on the table. Silence followed his words.

“I trust you.” was the confident answer.

Dean almost whimpers, a gasp escaping his lips. He can only hear Castiel breathing on the other side. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“I’m sorry, too. Cas… for the calls. Did—did you listen to them?”

“I always listen to you, Dean.”

Dean sniffs. “Well, I’m back at work for now—I’m in the bar, he just came in. Look—I think he’s looking for a victim—I think I can do it, Cas. I’m sure he’s not here to sing my karaoke night.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Dean.”

Dean holds the phone tight. He missed that voice.

“Cas…”

_“Can you stall him for a while? The team will be there in less than 20 minutes.”_

“20 minutes is good. I don’t think he’ll hit it quick and out of the bar.”

“ _Be careful, Dean. Don’t worry. I’ll come and get you. Trust me.”_

Dean nods quietly and inhales. “I love you, Cas.” It’s the most sober thing he said today. He waits for Castiel

_“For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.”_

Dean closes his eyes. Castiel is back. He hangs up. It’s time to put an end to this chase.

He nervously glances behind him, moving on the corner of the room trying not to show his nervousness.

“I uh… I’m gonna take a shower.” Dean forces a smile out.

Balthazar’s eyes are locked on him then to the phone he is holding. Dean doesn’t know how this man—how Castiel’s right hand man could be someone so _evil._ But then again, that was Cas’ job—to keep the evil. And Dean is going to give him a helping hand.

“Are you… inviting me?” he asks without any expression on his face.

Dean ducks his head. “Cas said he doesn’t want to see me again.” His eyes swims because thinking about it hurts. He wants to think of Cas just wanting him. Wanting Cas to just be there for him. He did not expect Balthazar to suddenly stand up.

He rounds on the couch, eyes fixated on Dean.

“Are you… inviting me…?”

Dean looks him in the eyes. He knows that look. Cas told him once about how serial killers are motivated by their power to dominate. He gives in now; the thrill is gone. He has to do this carefully.

“N-no… I… I still want Cas…” he looks down

Swift hand o

“You’re awfully beautiful.” The wicked eyes appear. Dean feels his panic button hits, “No wonder Novak wanted you…”

Dean has to play this. He swats the hand away

“Leave me alone.”

When he was pulled back, Balthazar crushes their lips together. Instinct to fight gets Dean acting but not five punch in the air and pain strikes on his abdomen. Balthazar was too strong and Dean finds himself dropping on his knees, wheezing.

Fingers pull his hair up and when their eyes meet, Dean makes sure he is looking at him with hatred—for killing all those people, for making Cas blame himself, for acting as Cas friend and hurting Cas… how Cas will be hurt when this is over.He got this. Nothing to some of his hook ups. Only that, he’s sure dozens of men are listening on his earpiece. Castiel included. This made him only a little hesitant. _You’re a professional too…_

_“Let me go!” he growls._

He sees the eyes flicker manically. The serial killer is liking this. Then he gets a backhand on his cheeks and Dean knew no more.

* * *

When he comes to his senses, the first thing he realized is he is bounded from behind and naked.

Balthazar comes out of the bathroom sniffing the air. Dean is already wearing a bathrobe when the man walks toward him and wraps an arm around his waist. His eyes are darker on the reflection, his mouth falling directly on Dean’s neck, a smile wickedly playing on his lips. “If it isn’t my fucking lucky day. I got the hottest boy in town.”

“ _Fuck you!_ ” Dean never thanked his experience to fake seduction much more than now as he turns to face Balthazar, thinking of all the fucking beating this guy will get from him later. He begins leading Balthazar back to the bed, letting the man fall down to sit—but Balthazar is quick. He grabs Dean by the arm and hauls him to the bed, pinning him down with a huge grin on his ugly face.

“I like seeing pretty faces. It makes me want to play with them more. Hear their voices as they beg for more for my cock. You will let me hear your voice when I fuck you, right? I’ll go straight to your mouth and your hole, and you won’t hold back.”

Dean feels sick, Balthazar suddenly dives to his mouth, kissing him roughly while he takes Dean’s wrists and slams them back on the bed just above his head. Dean groans into the kiss and shuts his eyes.

_It’s okay… you got this…_

“You’re delicious.” Balthazar keeps lapping on his throat, leaving marks that gets Dean grinding his teeth, but he never moans. He doesn’t want to have to find Castiel standing outside that fucking elevator. Because he knows he will. One cry from Dean, he knows Castiel will act, all professionalism be damned.

But all the while, all he can think of is Castiel. Dean’s eyes water.

“Why are you crying, love?” Balthazar grins like he is enjoying himself.

 _“Dean, don’t be afraid I’m coming to get you out.”_ Castiel’s steady voice is like an anchor. Dean’s eyes widen a little. Is that—was that part of the plan—?

How can he not panic? What’s happening?! In a second, Dean understands. Balthazar suddenly grinds their hips together. The slight surprise that escape him made him clamp his mouth shut and turn to his head to his left. The grinding doesn’t stop, then he hears a click of something familiar. Dean’s whole body wants to convulse. He opens his eyes and there it is, pointing straight to his head. Point blank. _Gun._

He forgets the world for a moment.

_Gun. Hammurabi._

Balthazar likes what he sees. He presses the gun on Dean’s forehead. He leans down on Dean and without remorse, whispers on the shaking body, “I’m gonna make you come so hard with a gun on your head. I’m going to break you apart till Castiel doesn’t see your beauty anymore and he looks at me again. I’m gonna make you properly…. _Scream.”_

 _“That’s not even Picasso, you shit.”_ Dean grins, looking Balthazar dead in the eyes.

Balthazar wrenches his mouth open with one powerful tug of his hand, then licks inside Dean’s mouth, tonguing until his throat, their bodies grinding. Dean can’t help crying.

_Cas…!_

He prays Cas is quick enough before this madman completely devours him and put a bullet in his head. Is there even any truth that this guy really had sex with dead bodies? It seems proven now. He fights but he gets pressed on the bed hard and wild. Dean stifles a groan, knowing the whole assembly of police can hear him.

“You taste good. You’re amazing.”

Dean cries in pain when Balthazar chomps on his shoulder. The man grinds on his ass like a madman on heat. He shuts his eyes. “Why are you not crying? I want my victims to cry loud when I grind in. Makes it all more adoring and divine.”

There’s a quick motion of Dean getting flipped on his stomach. Balthazar quickly grinds his groin on Dean’s ass, grabbing a fistful of his hair and speaking on Dean’s lobes. One of his hand has slipped in and stars jerking his cock.

Dean ignores the other hand on the meat of his ass sliding down to his hole. He bites on the pillow hard. He tries to shake his own shaking. Dean bites the pillow, “Oh if you’d known what an art you will be, boy. You’re tight. I’m going to thoroughly enjoy owning your hole.”

The digit sinks in. Dean sobs, tears spilling on his eyes. He hates being touched by anyone else ever since meeting Cas. He doesn’t know but he doesn’t feel so good if it’s not Cas. To hell with this, he is sure Castiel will get him. Been sure from the beginning ever since and he promised himself not to let go of Castiel when he escapes this. If he can stall for time, if he can be that lucky. At least here, he begs the gods and skies not to freeze on his fear. It’s dangerous if Cas suddenly kicks in that door—that gun—he won’t let that gun point anywhere else. He wants Cas safe.

He needs Cas safe.

“Gun…” Dean inhales, burying his head on the pillow with eyes tightly shut as he pushes back to Balthazar’s hips. The man groans and drapes his nakedness over Dean’s back, the bath robe almost falling off his shoulder the way he is getting abused.

“What?” Balthazar says, voice think with lust.

“Gun… my head… I like it.”

“You kinky bastard!” Balthazar laughs, his dick on Dean. He gets the end of the gun on Dean’s skull. Dean losing all sensation when the door is kicked open and Castiel Novak bursts in, gun at hand.

“ _Get him, Cas._ ” Gabriel whispers coldly.

There’s only one shot.

Dean feels something heavy falls on his side. He doesn’t dare open his eyes.

Then he feels gentle hands touch his shoulder and Castiel’s arm wrapping around him.

“Dean.” Cas says breathlessly, turning him over with eyes swimming in tears.

Dean doesn’t speak, the moment Castiel turns him, he buries his face on Castiel’s neck, uncaring of the nakedness of his body or how filthy he looks like. His whole-body quivers and he can hear Castiel soothing him, like the first time he soothed him when they came to his apartment broken into by a stalker.

Castiel wraps him in a clean blanket, keeping a strong and firm arm around him.

“You’re okay, Dean. I got you. I’m sorry. You’re okay now.”

But Dean doesn’t know what to say when his eyes widen. He sees Balthazar raisin his gun behind Cas. He tries to wriggle away from Cas, but Cas realized what he was doing, looked behind him and then shielded Dean with his body. Rain of bullet hits the air at the same.

_“NO!”_


	8. Epilogue

White hospital lights, sounds of beeping machine, and soft, comfortable hospital gowns. Dean quickly rids of all the trouble except the cast over the broken bone he suffered from the assault. But Dean hardly cared. He endured the pain, the advice to keep the cast for months so the bones won’t have any problem getting in the right position. The treatment was a curse. Quality rest was a little tough to achieve with Dean being restless all the time. Soon the but it all didn’t matter to Dean.

Extreme pain hits hard from time to time, but it was nothing.

What does that it matter when Cas was still in coma two weeks later?

“I’m fine, Sam. Still in the hospital, though…” Dean pins the phone between his cheek and ear to rub the back of his neck feeling tight, “Cas hasn’t woken up yet but he’s already stable and… the nurse is with him now, and there are guards outside. I only went to buy something to eat. I can’t live another second on hospital food.” He groans.

His brother chuckles on another line.

_“They are healthy, Dean. Less of everything bad for people in recovery—”_

“You mean less like of anything substantial to _me?”_

Sam laughs on the other end. “Want me to go there? You’re also still a patient.”

“It’s only a broken bone.” Dean dismisses, “It’ll heal. And I don’t want any more plant stuff from you. One more and I’ll grow my own shrub in Cas’ room. You do your job and nail that bastard to life sentence, I’ll owe you everything.”

 _“You sound like you don’t trust me? Come on, dude, you think I’ll let this maniac go after doing what he did with my brother?”_ there was a sound of shuffling papers on the phone. Dean looks at the watch by the hospital wall reading half past eight.

“Yeah, that’s sweet, but have you eaten your dinner, Sammy?” 

_“Yep. Had fun with onion rings and scrambled eggs plus cucumber salad and juice.”_

Dean can hear Sam smiling on the other end. Rolling his eyes he holds the receiver properly only to demand, “You _call that_ _dinner? You’re in your home, go make something good.”_

Sam laughs. "I'll bring you something good… And Dean.."

Dean waits quietly. "What…?"

"Thank you for calling me."

"Bitch, what did we say about chickflicks?"

"Yeah, I know Dean. But you know this case is big and we were talking about it in the firm when the guy was arrested... I knew a lot of lawyers wanted to be in the Prosecution , but you know when you called me and told me you were a key witness and nearly became one of those victims I... A case never became so closer to homw before... I'm sorry I wasn't there, Dean..."

"What? You were chasing your dreams, I dom't blame you."

"For the things I said in the past... About why you do your job even when you had other choice... I'm sorry I didn't understand..."

"You're not the only one. But I hoped you'd give it a thought, you know. "

"I have, Dean... And I realized in the end it's still you. Whatever you choose to do from now on, trust me to be there. I'm sorry I'm an asshole, dude."

"You were, now dude, stop being a sentimental geek on me." Dean wipes his eyes. "Alright, enough. How's the case going on?"

“It’s a speedy hearing, Dean. All the families of the charge responded positively for the arraignment last week. The FBI have given all access to the incriminating evidences from his car. The preliminary hearing will be a week from now, there’s no turning back. Dean, are you listening?”

Dean had gone silent. Like it wasn’t just two weeks ago when the incident happened… with Charlie… with Ash’s death. He feels stumped.

And Cas is still in coma.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to go there.” Sam says in an assuring voice. “But I will make sure there's enough evidence to pin him. There's already a higher bail at the preliminary arraignment that would have kept him in jail after the preliminary hearing… wven the court can see the gravity of this case. But at the end, you will be asked to testify, we don’t need subpoena for that. You are the evidence, Dean, okay? So don’t worry about everything. I’m here for you now.”

Dean wipes his stinging eyes. “You don’t worry, cause I’m not.” Dean lied, eyes on the paved corridor leading to Castiel’s room. “Thank you, Sam.” 

Silently, forgetting to get his snack, Dean heads back in Castiel’s room. The guards opened and closed the room for him, giving Dean a little solace that at least he was safe, that Cas will be safe. Balthazar was already apprehended.

Balthazar who was Cas’ close friend.

He slumps down the chair beside Castiel’s bed. Cas is still on oxygen mask and hasn’t stirred except for the slight fluttering of eyelids, but apart from that, he remained dead to the world. 

Swallowing hard, Dean puts his hand on top of Cas’ hands. He always makes sure to hold them. Cas was in no immediate danger anymore according to the doctors with his vitals going stable. Why he won’t wake up must be the shock of blood loss from the brain. Dean woke up from his own operation shortly and has since stayed with Cas. Even moved their rooms together when Cas was taken from the emergency ward. 

He can still remember like it only happened yesterday. Balthazar, Cas, the assault… the gunning. Balthazar still able to pull the trigger and shoot Cas. How Cas’ blood was all over his hand as Dean held him in his arms.

He tightens his hold on the soft hand and pulled it to his lips. The beeps are too noisy. He just wants to hear Cas’ voice. He stares and stares but like those past two weeks, Cas won’t look back. Can’t look back.

Dean put both elbows on the bed, face on his arms just staring at Cas’ profile and their entwined hands. Well, he’s always talked to Cas…

 _Are you… are you gonna wake up any time soon, buddy_?

_Trial’s gonna come up soon… Sam said some arraignment was pushed by the FBI… Balthazar, do you know his real name is Alastair? Faked his ID’s… but man, he’s good… I just wished he didn’t have to be your friend. I mean…. You’d be pissed when you wake up, I’m sure._

_But the case can’t wait for that Cas… they’re gonna push it in a week. I’m gonna make sure that bastard gets a jail time for what he did to you. So… just keep healing yourself, okay?_

_I miss you…_

_I want you to be okay. I’ll do anything…_

_I’ll do what I can… gonna find that guy’s face all over the internet, all over the hundreds of cameras across the states. I’m gonna pin all the murder he made using that fake face, people he killed so he rots in prison…_

Eyes steaming of unshed tears, he buries them on Castiel’s palm.

“So when you wake up, you’ll be proud of me coz all of this will be solve. All of this will be behind us… so you gotta recover quick… or I’ll be solving every fucking crime out there and leave nothing for you, okay?"

He plants his lips on Cas’ skin and stayed like that with his face buried on his boyfriend’s palm. Cas may not respond, but he’s been told he can hear them. That Cas will soon talk to him again, he’ll be able to see those gorgeous blue eyes he could never get enough of to his dying day.

After a while, Dean chuckles tearfully, “God, I miss your lips.”

He lifts his head, eyes on the sleeping form, when Cas didn’t stir, Dean resumes to plant his head on Castiel’s arm, making sure not to press on any of the connecting IVs and and sighs to his sleep. 

* * *

The next morning, Cas receives a call from Gabriel first thing after word spread out he is okay. The media coverage included all the death by Alaistair. Gabriel made sure there was no way in hell the guy was going out.

He has taken over the case after his little brother was shot, and being a director of the fed, it was easier to get all the footage and copies of important documents to nail their target. In no time, Dean was sent two laptops in the hospital. He refused to leave Castiel’s side and being in a private room, was able to do his research in private, jotting down names, place dates and places Balthazar had been in both his guises.

Balthazar Alastair was a ranch owner, from Charlie’s report from the BAU-4, suffers from multiple personality disorder rooting from some a childhood with a father who was a veteran from Vietnam who suffered PTSD. There was no information about his mother. The media took it all. They never named the FBI officer hospitalized and survived after dealing with Picasso.

Sam wanted to review all other charges before the arraignment, so while Dean was busy linking all the footages and crimes of that time, Sam was working with Gabriel. They filled the entire week just identifying some cases that turned out to made by the same person— _in Alastair’s disguised persona as Abaddon._ Using a different method in luring their victims from different range of targets that was why they were never connected. 

Dean was overwhelmed by the data exchanges with Sam, some lasting to 1990 cold cases that are unsolved. There are sexual assault reports under the name of Alastair, but after paying bail, press charges were halted by the family. He was never charged of any murder even when he became a person of interest, as the investigators were led to believe from eyewitnesses’ account that that it was a woman last seen with the victims.

_“If we can tie it all up, he won’t only be charged of the Picasso murders, the multiple murders of other cold cases of his counterpart—Dean, this isn’t only a life sentence we’re talking about! I mean, the case is so complex! And if those footages you submitted are linked to red zone places where crime occurred at the time, I’m telling you this is capital punishment. We will surprise him on Friday, Dean… about how we uncovered all his crimes! And it’s all because of you! You got him, Dean.”_

Dean inhales and listened to Sam more while he stood inside the bathroom. He didn’t want Cas to hear anything from the conversation even if Cas would only be hearing his voice. After the call, he washed his face using one hand and looked himself in the mirror. 

He has obviously seen better days, but with three days before the arraignment, he knows he gotta do everything for something Cas had been working on for years. 

Drinking coffee for the night, he sets out for another footage hunting, all the while listening to the regular beating machine. He would up at Cas from the foot of the bed, sees him still just… there… but with three days to beat, Dean resumes his work.

Thursday morning finds Dean waking up with a start when he hears— _no—when he stopped hearing the beeping machine even in his unconscious state._ He scrambles to his feet, dropping the clipboard from the mini table to check on Castiel—only to see two deep blue eyes staring at him from the bed with one hand already holding the oxygen mask— like Cas had removed them on purpose.

Their eyes lock and it was so heavy all their emotions in one gesture and tears escapes their eyes. Dean sees Cas weakly raise his free and wanting to reach him—Cas had removed the straps because he wanted to reach him. 

Dean reached Castiel, held Castiel gently, nose buried on his dark hair. Cas doesn’t stop patting his shoulder while Dean cried his eyes out on Castiel’s shoulder. The door opened and the guards came, called the nurses because Dean is such an idiot for not pushing the buttons, but Castiel’s eyes are open and he recognizes Dean. That was all Dean needed. He feared that Cas may not recognize him, but he believed in Cas.

He always believed in Castiel.

Minutes later the doctors came. Dean was ushered away, but not after feeling Castiel’s weak hands trying to pull him back in when he is surrounded by the medical personnel. Dean didn’t leave the room. His other hand was still in a cast. They wouldn’t have been able to make him let go of Cas if he wasn’t handicapped. And Cas, obviously so weak or they wouldn’t have been given a chance to take Dean away too. It just shows how vulnerable they are now. 

It just shows how much they want each other. 

They checked Cas’ vitals, his blood pressure, his eyes, his breathing. There were plenty of laboratory tests that must be done, all the scan reads, and questions. Dean was always there. Cas’ eyes always dart to him, look at him even when the doctors were asking him question. Like there’s something he wants to tell Dean he doesn’t find satisfaction in staring. Gradually his stares became too intense that at one point, Dean thinks Castiel would just slip out of bed and reach him.

That’s how it felt in those succeeding hours. Castiel mentally trying to physically reach for him. And Dean wanting nothing but to hold him too. 

Charlie came around noon and embraced Dean who was waiting outside the physician’s office where Castiel has been detained for a quarter of an hour. 

“Are you okay? Oh, god, Dean your eyes are so puffy.” Charlie says, cupping his cheeks in concern, “Where’s Cas? Is Cas okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean sniffs with a small smile, “He’s gone for the million-dollar question portion. He’s been surrounded by doctors and nurses the entire morning. I don’t worry—I’m not too worried about it. He’s been giving me sexy looks since they removed his machine.”

“Oh, that’s… okay, back to sexy,” Charlie beams, “but that’s such a relief. I’m sorry, I just got around now—we just finished cataloguing all the circumstantial evidences on five other different cold cases you found for us plus update from the forensics on DNA samples. The paper reports your brother did are incredible, Dean. He gave a copy to the Captain and I was able to read it. As comprehensive as it could be—28 charges and a dozen cold cases… it still scares me but once the arraignment is done, it’s all preliminaries and proceedings—”

“Hey, whoa…” Dean places both hands on Charlie’s overexcited shoulders. “That must be why I don’t talk to my brother. He can’t get me to chill on the law.” 

They share a small smile. Behind her though, Dean cas see the same gloom in her eyes caused by a friend's death. So when she squeezed his hand, Dean smiles at her, telling her not to worry about Cas. These moments make memorable and Dean is glad he wasn't alone. 

The physician’s door opens and Castiel in a wheel chair appears. He is still on his hospital gown and an IV drip, helped by his pretty nurse named Meg. Their eyes meet at once and like electricity, all the eyes ever did is fasten on him.

“Dean,” Castiel croaks in a voice that has not been used for weeks. 

“Hey, Cas.” 

“And there goes to fire, can you stop that a moment and let the jealous nurses find their way back in their cubicles to mope?” Nurse Meg says sounding bored, pushing the wheel chair towards Dean. “His results come clear and good. He’s a good lil soldier.”

“Not really lil,” Dean says ia n challenge. He knows how Meg’s been looking at Castiel from the beginning. That’s why he never allowed anyone to bring the sponge in the room without him in the house. 

Meg rolls her eyes.

Charlie reported that all the copies of the files had been sent to court and that alpieces of evidencees acquired were solid and direct and only waiting for DNA test results. Captain Gabriel Novak went back to L.A to secure the number owitnessesss on the stand, communicate with the family involved and would be meeting tomorrow at the arraignment where Castiel nor Dean are summonedThisch leaves the two some private time in their closed of quarters when all the doctors have cleared Cas who had asked Dean what happened after he got shot.

Of course, it starts there.

Dean tells him how his back up arrived five minutes after Castiel—to which by the time guns were rolling, they had done the FBI job of kicking the door open—but not before Alastair pulled the trigger on Dean.

The twdon’t’t talk about Dean seeing Castiel’s bodgetset pushed on his. Doesn’t talk about how things got silent ithe n matter of second with the lunatic still waving the gun and aiming-

How Dean, frightened the flash of gun—tries to cover Castiel with his own when he realized Cas was down. How Castiel did not even budge till then and kept firm arms planted so he still covers Dean instead. 

They don’t talk about it. 

But when Castiel reaches a hand to Dean who takes it so he is sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean swallows the lump on his throat down to the dump of lumps on his chest so heavy and loaded.

Castiel reaches to touch his cheek. It was both their moment.

“I’m sorry I made you worry…” he whispers, rubbing the calloused hands from his cheeks to the corner of Dean’s lips. “Are you okay, Dean?”

Dean chuckles, eyes bright. “Are you kidding me right now? Cas you— _you just survived a coma—why are you asking me?”_ his heart swells at the way Castiel is looking him in the eyes. “Why do you always ask me…”

“Because…” Cas says without reservation, blue eyes swimming with Dean’s reflection, “I find myself always wanting to protect you… and I’ll do it over and over again, Dean… I don’t regret being ia n coma, or being shot or stabbed… if it means it’s not you who’s hurt.”

Dean’s eyes well up.

“You’re not my human shield, Cas… and you can’t always protect me.” He whispers. Castiel looks at

“That’s a scary thought.” He sighs. “Lie with me, Dean?”

Dean obliges. They snuggled together on their sides, perfectly content of staying this way. 

Three weeks later, Castiel brings Dean to L.A to meet Sam. Surprising enough, Gabriel insisted to come along despite the busy schedule. They had lunch in a fancy Italian restaurant care of the FBI chief.

Dean wrinkles his nose over the two lashing at each other like cats and dogs. 

"You're awfully close." he observes. And he did observe that slight blush on his brother's cheek. 

What?

* * *

The smell of pie rouse him. His eyes shoot open from the bed. It's been a month since the incident and Castiel is still on leave. They spent the last month in Castiel's house at L. A. For Dean it's honeymoon month where he lives in a dream with his sexy fantasy. He smiles slightly remembering exactly who was in his dream.

But who needs dream when he has the real thing. 

"Smiling so early, did you have a good dream?" Castiel asks, standing from the doorway topless and only in his loose jeans.

"Why are you decent?" Dean asks when he raised his lazy eyes, following Cas with awfully lot of sex hair approach the edge of the bed. "And yeah, I had a good dream." Dean exhales, sinking his head back the king size Bed completely nude with legs tangled on the sheets. 

He feels Cas crawl behind him and kiss his back, leaving shivers on his spine. 

"How good a dream?" Cas whispers, leaving wet trails of his moist lips on Dean's tingling skin. 

Dean smiles and turns on his back, hooking his left leg up so it's on Castiel's right shoulder, showing him his gift of the morning. 

Castiel's eyes darkens at the sight of Dean's cock hard and swollen. 

"Must be a very good dream." Cas says, wrapping his left palm on Dean's throbbing cock."

Dean lets out a foul sigh before giving Cas a smile. "It was so hot."

Castiel licks his lips, his chest heaving excitedly, blue eyes darting from Dean's cock to Dean's green eyes. 

"Well, no reason why we don't continue." saying so, Cas sucks his cock in one go. Dean moans, sensitive body still soft and tingling from just being woken up. Castiel presses his thighs flat on the bed, positioning himself between Dean's legs and bobbing up in down, dragging Dean's cock to climax soo because he is so sensitive. 

Dean comes with one hand pulling on Cas'hair, body arching as his hot release gets sucked on by oveezealous agents too wanton to leave his still throbbing cock. 

Dean sighs as the last spurt of his come gers swallowed by his man. He gives Cas a loving look from his hooded eyes. But Cas looks darkly up again, humming on Dean's softening cock on his mouth. He pulls out, lips glistening from Dean's mouthful release, trickling down the corner of his mouth. 

That was enough to get Dean hard again. 

"How was that?"

"Perfect." Dean whispers, leaning one leg on Cas' chest. "Just lile my dream."

"Mmm.. That's not preferable."

Dean yelps when Castiel suddenly rubs his puckered hole with his thumb, then slides one in the hot arena. 

"Still so sensitive and open." Castiel comments, staring down Dean's ass while Dean grumbles at the lack of pressure. 

"I'm still open for you, babe. Come on." Dean grits his teeth, a hand grabbing the front of Castiel's jeans where he can feel his bulge. Cas only smiles at him and jabs a second finger. 

"My come is still inside..."

"We didn't clean up last night."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean groans again in immense pleasure when Castiel hits his spot. "Goddamn baby, yes..." he eyes Cas with a smirk. He knows Cas loves it when Dean talks like that. Knows they both get high on dirty talk. Dean knows he does. Pulling his eyes from the blue, Dean's eyes fall on Cas front again. Unzipping it, Castiel leans down to kiss him on the lips when he massages Cas' already hard cock. 

"Hard for you as always." Cas says. He pulls both Dean's legs over his shoulders, aligns himself just beneath Dean, and with eyws on each other he pushes his hips. The blunt head of his cock slips in easily, holding Dean hostage as Castiel drags the penetration. 

"Fuck.... Cas... 

He finds Castiel cooking in the Castiel smiling at hm, and then to Charlie who is sitting on his bedside table with an open box other freshly baked pie. Charlie looks delighted about something.

“Wow, so it really works. This is insane. Like a Pavlov classic insane.”

“Lo to you too,” Dean rubs his eyes. Moments later he is sitting on the bed staring at Castiel fondly. He beckons him to sit on the bed. Castiel complies.

“When are we going to get home?”

“Soon.”

Dean sighs. and leans his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Are we okay now?” Dean whispers, closing his eyes. “Cause I’m tired of fighting, Cas.”

“Me too, Dean. I just want—” he stops.

Dean quickly sits up and snuggles close, hooking his legs around Castiel’s waist so the agent is essentially situated inside his bowlegs. He takes Castiel’s hands and clasps it on his own.

Castiel stares at him, slowly his eyes look between them to Dean’s lips.

“I am happy you're safe.”

Dean smiles. They watch Balthazar stand silently behind the Plexiglas in the first-floor courtroom. He had pleaded guilty as expected but Sam takes it to the preliminaries after

The verdict?

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUILTY.
> 
> I am 😅


End file.
